The Value Of A Memory Is
by cybersyd42
Summary: The team discover an abandoned Ancient outpost and find themselves trapped in a ten thousand year old nightmare. COMPLETE!
1. Teaser

_Author's Notes: This is a WIP which will have around 35 parts. So you've been warned! No ships, no spoilers, no permanent damage done. Reviews appreciated!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, MGM and the Sci-fi Channel do. I will take them out of their protective packaging to play with, thus lowering their value, but I promise not to lose any of their accessories or to give them bad hair cuts. Heads are not replaceable.

* * *

**The Value Of A Memory Is**_

Chapter One - Teaser

Meir Yana should have been happy.

The sun was warm against her back and shoulders, brushing a broad stroke of pink across her nose and cheeks. A faint breeze ruffled her hair, and chilled the sweat at the nape of her neck. Trailing sand through her fingers, she lay on the shore of the lake and yawned, blissful in the peaceful environment of her birthplace.

She should have been happy, but she could not shake the gnawing sensation in her gut. There was a familiarity to this place, something dark and twisted to the memory. There were shadows beneath the sun and the wind felt harsh. Trying to shake the sensation, she delved her hand deep into the sand to enjoy the feel of its grains against her skin.

Only to scream, and lift her hand, bloodied and torn from the glass shards beneath her. The sun was gone, and the sky was empty, a deep black devoid of stars. The wind was full of whispers, and her dread turned to terror. Breath stuttering in her chest, she dragged herself to her feet, the glass ripping the skin from her feet. The hisses were louder, whispers that seemed to reverberate deep inside her skull, painfully. She staggered backwards and the trees around her grabbed at her clothes, at her hair, and pulled her inwards. With her fists she fought back, smearing red against the leaves, the scent of copper rich and heavy in the air.

She writhed within the forests embrace, vines breaking free from the dirt to wrap around her ankles and tighten, crushing bone. She screamed, her hands caught by leafy tendrils that forced themselves through her flesh and out, pierced through and through. The hissing grew louder still, but she could not cover her ears, and her screams turned to sobs, her body still pulling spasmodically against the grip of the forest.

Then there was a face, a shimmer in the darkness, pale skin that glowed despite the absence of light, and a smile she could see despite the mask across its face. Teeth, and lust, and warm saliva; it moved through the forest without effort, gliding without touching the glass floor. The vines and roots of the plants pulled away from its touch, withering and dying.

It reached her and bent its head, so she could feel the cold it exuded. Her sobs had become whimpers, and she slumped into the forest, the branches and leaves in her flesh bearing the weight of her body.

Unable to move, she could only watch as the thing bent closer, stretching out its hand towards her chest. Just as its fingers were about to touch her bare skin it paused, its head tilting slightly to the side.

She took a breath.

Its hand plunged down deep, through the thin layer of skin, past the thicker layer of fat and muscle, deeper still until its fingers pressed against her rib cage and she could do nothing but scream. She howled against the darkness as the skin shriveled and dried beneath its touch, as her muscles withered, as cataracts clouded her vision and a deep, deathly cold seeped into her heart and clenched tightly.

It beat feebly for several moments, then stuttered and died.

The cold evaporated with it, and the pain. The hand dissolved and her chest closed up around the wound. The forest pulled back, her skin knitting and healing as though it had never been breached, blood fading from the leaves and dirt beside her. With the support of the forest gone she fell, and closed her blinded eyes…

She opened them after a moment, to sun on her back and shoulders, brushing a broad stroke of pink across her nose and cheeks. A faint breeze ruffled her hair, and chilled the sweat at the nape of her neck. Trailing sand through her fingers, she lay on the shore of her home, and wondered why, when she should be at peace, she felt so afraid.


	2. Exploration

**The Value Of A Memory Is**

Chapter Two - Exploration

Sheppard's first encounter with McKay had felt like an interrogation.

He had sat in the chair with his usual disregard for orders, it had lit up like a Christmas tree beneath him, and McKay had leapt upon him like he was the second coming.

How did it feel, what could he see, was it something he needed to focus on or could he operate it subconsciously?

Describing his connection to Atlantis to someone without the gene was like trying to explain color to a blind person. It just couldn't be done.

Stepping through the Stargate to an outpost of clearly Ancient origin – he felt it. A prickle at the very back of his mind, a heightened awareness of every sensation, every shiver of arm hair and chilled breath of air. The impression of standing at the edge of a great chasm, and knowing if he took a step forward, he would fly.

John Sheppard stood in the centre of the darkened room, listened to his breathing, and opened his eyes.

"Major?"

A torch swung around in Sheppard's direction, blazing white spots into his vision. Raising his hands defensively, he yelped. "McKay, watch where you're putting that thing! You nearly blinded me."

"Sorry." The light swung downwards and revealed a pair of feet a few meters from where Sheppard stood. They paced around the floor in a small circle, the dim glow of the life-signs detector bobbing above them. Turning, Sheppard followed a narrow beam of light bouncing about the walls to find Ford on the other end, Teyla beside him and caught in the shadows.

The MALP had revealed a floor, a flash of a DHD and an interesting, if darkened, control panel. It was enough to send both Zelenka and McKay into paroxysms of excitement, pointing to the technology's clearly Ancient origins and engaging in a quick fire discussion Sheppard didn't try to keep up with. It was to this that McKay now walked over to, his hands playing across its surface, small clouds rising from where his fingers disturbed the dust.

"Well? You think there's any life in that thing?"

"Just one minute." He had it up in half the time, smug expression bathed in blossoming lights and the soft hum from the control panel.

Switching his torch off, Sheppard craned his neck back to look around the room.

The team stood in a small room brightly lit from overhead lights set into the shallow ceiling. The walls and floors were made from a rough marble, a swirl of color providing grip to the ground. The Stargate stood on a raised dais, a series of shallow steps leading down to a semi-circular computer console that flickered under McKay's touch.

"What's wrong with it?" Ford asked, curiously.

"New battery perhaps?" McKay rolled his eyes. "I might be a genius but even I need more than thirty seconds, Lieutenant." His hands moved quickly over the console, and around them the lights rose, dimmed, then rose again.

Sheppard stared at them, willing them to stay on. After a brief flicker they obeyed, and he moved to stand behind McKay, looking over the scientist's shoulder.

"Do you know what this place is?"

"You mean, more than it being an Ancient outpost?" McKay waved his hand across the Ancient keyboard and a blue display flashed up on the wall opposite. A map, like those seen in Atlantis, showed in neat lines a cross-shaped building divided into rooms and corridors. The largest lay in the south, and something pulsed within its heart, a white undulating circle.

"What is that?" Teyla asked, looking up at the display.

"Power source." McKay's eyes widened eagerly. "Could be a ZPM."

"It doesn't look very well," Sheppard observed, looking at the map. One of the t-sections was dimmer than the rest, its shape traced thinly in grey against the dark blue backdrop.

"Hmm." The scientist moved his hands across the keys, causing the map to shift. It retained its original shape but the outline of the rooms was replaced by a thin cobweb of white lines leading out from the southern core. Towards the Stargate, lying at the centre of the cross, the web seemed brighter, its strands pulsating warmly. Towards the outer, dimmed t-section they faded into black. "Looks like there's been some structural damage. Power coverage is sporadic, and has failed completely in the eastern wing. The computer seems to have redirected it to the western and northern sections, but with our arrival it had to divert energy here."

"Hence the flickering," Sheppard guessed.

"Precisely. It seems to have stabilized for the moment."

"Anything else?"

"Sensors are picking up some strange readings from the planet's surface." The Canadian's forehead crinkled into a frown.

"Strange as in…" he prompted.

"Strange." McKay took several paces to his left to study another section of the console. "There's some sort of atmospheric disturbance. High levels of methane and hydrogen."

"So not a vacation spot?" Sheppard joked.

"Not unless you want to asphyxiate in a matter of seconds, no."

"Is it natural?" Ford asked, looking nervously at the display.

"About as natural as any gas planet, yes."

"And we're not…" Aiden hesitated. "I mean, the air in here seems…"

McKay sighed, his patented 'I'm surrounded by idiots' breath of air. "Lieutenant, if we were in any immediate danger of suffocating I would be the first one dialing up Atlantis. We're fine. There seems to be a perfectly functioning life support system that isn't in danger of failing for, oh, another couple of hundred years. Give or take."

"And yet," Teyla said softly, "the Ancients have not been here for several thousand."

"No." The air smelt musty, and despite the bright lights the room still seemed full of shadows. It reminded Sheppard of first arriving in Atlantis, of the same sense of untouched history – but unlike his new home, here the darkness was not dispelled by their arrival. "McKay, are we in any danger here?"

"No." The physicist glanced back down at the controls. "As long as power output stays as it is, there won't be any problems. The system has coped for this long, Major – it's not about to break down thanks to our arrival."

"Just thought I'd check." He leant closer to the scientist, knowing his proximity was royally irritating McKay. "So what is this place?"

McKay huffed loudly, and took a deliberate step to the left. "If you want an answer to that question I suggest you give me some space to work. Go see if you can light something up, alright?"

Sheppard grinned, but moved back. "Sure." He shifted the straps on his backpack. "Ford, stay here with McKay. Teyla, you're with me. We'll go check out the western side of the complex." He headed to the doorway on the opposite wall to the Stargate, Teyla beside him.

"Be careful."

He stopped and turned to look back at McKay. The scientist's head was lowered in deep concentration.

Gaul and Abrams had died only two weeks previously.

John said nothing, but the pack felt a little heavier as he moved out into the corridor.


	3. The Spirits of '76

**The Value Of A Memory Is**

Chapter Three - The Spirits of '76

If it were not for the atmosphere, Sheppard might have mistaken the main corridor running through the outpost as a stroll through Atlantis. The musty smell of long abandonment lay heavily in the air, mingled with dust and shadows. They passed darkened transporter alcoves which ignored his hardest thoughts, locked rooms which would not open, and others that lay barren and bare, devoid of life. Familiar withered husks perched in each corner, skeletons of past plants. Even the bubbling tanks of green liquid, identical to the ones on Atlantis for which no purpose had yet been found, lay stagnant and still.

Teyla padded silently at his side, her weapon drawn and carried lightly across her chest. The only sound was Sheppard's own footsteps against the floor, and a distant hum of energy the origin of which he couldn't place.

"It is too quiet."

He glanced across at Teyla. "Take out all the people and Atlantis is the same."

She shook her head. "There it is possible to hear the ocean, the wind outside the city walls. Here the only life is artificial." She stopped, frowning. "Do you feel that?"

He blinked. "Feel what?"

"Here." She reached out and took his hand, gently tugging him down to a kneeling position. Bemused, he followed her lead as she pressed his hand to the floor. "What –"

"Shh," she reprimanded. "What do you feel?"

He sighed, but obeyed. The floor was made of a rock similar to marble and felt cool to the touch. At first he sensed nothing but its smoothness against his fingertips, and he felt increasingly uncomfortable and foolish, with Teyla knelt beside him looking up expectantly. Then, after several more seconds, he felt something.

"What's that?"

An intense, muffled vibration passed through his fingers to his wrist, sending a fine tremor through his joints.

"There is immense power running beneath us." Teyla rose, and he followed, wiping dusty hands on his pant legs. "But Doctor McKay said that the power supply is sporadic and this place has been abandoned for thousands of years."

He followed her line of thought, a knot building in his stomach. "So what is it powering?"

"I do not know."

Sheppard tensed, and hit the talk button on his radio. "McKay, come in. How are things going?"

The response echoed in the empty corridor. _"Oh, peachy, Major. Getting information from this machine is rather like getting blood from a stone but otherwise, fine."_

"I always thought you had a God complex," Sheppard jibed.

"_Hah hah."_ There was a slight pause, and the muffled sound of metal against metal. _"Even computers aren't immortal and the constant power fluctuations have done this one some damage."_

"Yeah," he drawled, "about that. Just how much power are we talking about, McKay? A fully charged ZPM? And what is it powering?"

"_All good questions, Major, and if I had the answers I would tell you. But again I'd like to remind you – not God."_ There was a thoughtful pause. _"A lesser deity, perhaps. Something with a devout following."_

"_And my grandma taught me not to worship false idols,"_ put in Ford, his mutter carrying clearly over the radio.

Sheppard grinned.

"_I'd have more answers if I could see the power core."_

He hesitated, glancing at Teyla. "Is the structure stable?"

"_Perfectly."_

"And life signs –"

"_None have spontaneously burst into existence since the last time I checked, no. Lieutenant Ford will be with me if I run into any ghosts."_

"Alright," he allowed. "Lieutenant?"

"_Yes Major?"_

"Stay close to McKay. Don't allow him to wander off, and watch what he touches, okay?"

"_Sit Scooby. Good dog."_

"_Hey!"_ Ford protested.

"Play nicely," Sheppard scolded, mildly. "Daphne and I will continue exploring the west side." He flicked the radio off and turned to meet Teyla's bemused expression.

"This is another Earth expression?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Kind of."

She gave him a despairing look, then turned away and continued down the corridor. Sheppard gave his 9mm a reassuring pat and followed. They passed a series of rooms, each hidden in the dark and refusing to light, only giving up their secrets when Sheppard cast his torch towards them. Each one had the same lonely feel. An empty laboratory. An office, desk and chair coated in dust.

"I do not like this place," Teyla admitted, looking about at the shadows. "It feels… abandoned."

Sheppard moved away from the room and back out into the corridor, continuing their exploration. "So was Atlantis," he reminded her.

"I know." He saw her shoulders tense beneath the straps of her pack. "But the Ancients left Atlantis voluntarily. Here it feels as though…" She paused. "I have visited communities decimated by the Wraith. Entire villages taken by Hive ships, their houses empty, ablaze. This feels similar."

"Ghost towns," he supplied.

She glanced at him. "Both you and Doctor McKay have used that word."

He frowned, confused. "What word?"

"Ghost."

He gave an irrational shiver, and pressed onwards.

The lights were brighter up ahead. Sheppard guessed they were reaching the furthest end of the western section. "Well," he continued, trying to remain breezy, "we know the Ancients left Atlantis because of the Wraith. And they were bound to have outposts across the Pegasus Galaxy. Maybe they just left this one in a rush."

"Perhaps." Teyla didn't seem convinced.

Ahead the corridor drew to an end. Several large, double doors formed the opposite wall, reaching up to the ceiling, two panes of mottled glass set into their surface. There were lights in the room beyond, a glow that spilled through the glass and splashed color onto the floor.

Sheppard had the sudden, horrible sensation that the outpost had deliberately led them there. He approached the doors and was not surprised when they opened instantly.

Cautiously he stepped inside.

After a long moment, Sheppard's hand slipped down to his radio. "McKay, Ford? You're needed at our position. There's something you have to see."


	4. Coffee and Biscuits

**The Value of a Memory Is**

Chapter Four - Coffee and Biscuits

"Well?" McKay demanded, wheezing slightly, bending over and bracing his hands against his thighs. "What did you –" pant, "find?"

Sheppard exchanged a glance with Teyla. The Athosian dropped her head and looked away, to where Ford was standing at smart attention.

"Lieutenant." Sheppard looked down to Aiden's hands. "You can put your gun away, Ford."

Aiden looked confused. "Sir? I thought there were no life signs other than us?"

"There aren't." He winced. "Not exactly."

McKay straightened with difficulty, a scowl on his face. "Could you be a little more ambiguous, Major?

Sheppard gave a grim smile and stepped towards the door.

The room was about the same height as the jumper bay, but longer, the side walls curving around to meet each other, the opposite wall hidden behind a stack of shelves and racks. On every flat surface and stacked against every wall was a stasis chamber – seven foot high, several feet wide, done up in ornate gold and detailed metal.

And each one was occupied.

The room felt cold. Sheppard's breath formed small puffs of condensation in the air before dissipating. He took a step forward, then another, his legs feeling stiff and awkward beneath him. Even on this, his second entrance, his brain was no closer at comprehending what he saw before him.

"Ancients," McKay breathed.

Row upon row of them. All adults, from first glance, men and women no younger than Ford, all dressed in simple white robes and sharing the same expression of relaxed contentment. They lay encased in golden metal, a sheet of clear glass separating them from the outside world and giving Sheppard and his team a clear view within each one.

At the centre of the room facing the door stood a wide console and a bank of crystals similar to the ones used in the Atlantis control room. McKay walked over to it, dropping his pack to the floor and running his hands across its surface.

"I guess we know what all the power was for," Sheppard said.

Teyla nodded. She took a step towards one of the chambers. Its occupant was an elderly man with a shock of unkempt white hair that spread out across the case behind him like a halo. Teyla's fingers brushed the glass surface delicately. "They have slept for all this time?"

"I'm guessing." Sheppard glanced towards the scientist. "McKay?"

His surroundings forgotten, McKay seemed intensely fascinated by the workings of the console. He touched a crystal slab at the console's edge and above him a holographic display flickered into existence. On it was displayed a map of the room, with small Ancient script detailing information about each chamber. Another touch and McKay changed the display to show the workings of a chamber, with signs and symbols Sheppard didn't understand.

"Amazing," McKay breathed. "The power needed to keep just one of these chambers operational for this long is astounding." He looked up at Sheppard, his eyes bright with excitement. "Major, there may be more than one ZPM here."

"Woah." Sheppard raised a hand quickly. "I think that whatever the power supply is here, it's in use."

The physicist rolled his eyes despairingly. "I'm not suggesting we just rip it out and return to Atlantis with it. But where there is one there may be many. There may even be spares." He returned his gaze back to the display. "This isn't the only chamber."

"There are more?" Ford asked, disbelievingly.

"There's an identical power output being sent to the northern section. I suspect the eastern section holds the same but…" McKay hesitated, his hands running over the crystals and bringing up image after image, schematics of the outpost and its innards. "It's dead."

"Was it populated?" Sheppard asked, curling his fingers around the straps of his pack.

McKay frowned. "I don't – wait, yes. It _was_," he added, deliberately emphasizing the second word. "If it held similar to the numbers in this room, we're talking – seventy, eighty people?"

"And they are all dead?" Teyla asked. "Would the Ancients not build a safeguard to prevent that?"

"Probably. But…" McKay swept his hand across the console display and frowned, "if there was, it didn't work."

"Any reason why?" Sheppard prompted.

"The outpost is ten thousand years old, Major. At this point all bets are off."

Ford was shaking his head. "I don't get it. Why stay in stasis for that long?"

The scientist shrugged. "This far down below the planet's surface, the outpost is immune from Wraith attacks. The computer controls the life support to the chambers and there is enough power to keep them active for thousands of years."

"But why?" Ford pressed. "Why not go through the 'gate, leave like the people in Atlantis did?"

"Good question." Sheppard moved to the chamber nearest the door, propped up against the wall. In it lay a woman of similar age to Teyla, her skin as pale and fragile as china, long blonde hair spilling down past her shoulders. She was, Sheppard thought, quite beautiful, with a well defined jaw line and legs tapering down to slender ankles, fine white cloth folding over the curve of her breasts and falling from her hips. He took a step closer, looking past the glass to the face within, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep.

No. Not peaceful. The look of relaxed contentment he had previously imagined on the faces of the room's occupants was a lie, easily mistakable on a brief glance. But as he stared at the figure in the chamber he saw fine lines around her eyes, her lips pressed firmly together as though in pain, her hands curled into fists and the nails digging into the skin of her palm.

"McKay," he began.

The wail of an alarm cut him off, a high pitched, insistent siren that emanated from the chamber beside him. The lights of the pod flickered then went out, shrouding the woman in darkness.

Sheppard turned to see McKay staring back at him, a panicked look in his eyes. "What did you touch!"

"Me!" the scientist shot back. "Nothing! Well – nothing I wasn't familiar with. What about you – you're stood next to it! What did you think?"

"Nothing," he retorted, though he thought back quickly – no, nothing, nothing like 'wake' or 'off' or 'open'. The computer running the outpost was unfamiliar, but it still handled with the same amount of control.

McKay turned back to the console, his hands frantically hitting crystals. "Power to the chamber Is fluctuating. I'm trying to control the output but I…"

Sheppard never heard the rest of McKay's explanation. There was the sound of glass shattering under the brutal force of a fist and then suddenly a hand had locked around the side of his throat and had yanked him backwards against the stasis chamber. He choked, scrabbling at his neck futilely, trying to arch back from the broken shards of glass which dug into his shoulders. A scream rent the air, a desperate, inhuman keening that wound deep into his ears, over the sound of the alarm and panicked shouts from his teammates.

Looking upwards, Sheppard saw a pale female hand flail above him, reaching out and grasping at the air. He gasped against the pressure on his throat, gagged and fought but the hand held him with an inhuman strength, the thumb pressing against his windpipe. The edges of his vision started to turn to gray, the color bleaching from his surroundings, and he was aware of a deep throated buzzing in the back of his head that sent vibrations through his skull. He grasped feebly at the hand on his throat, nails digging into flesh, but then the final spurt of adrenaline failed him and he closed his eyes, his legs turning liquid beneath him…

The air beside Sheppard's right ear suddenly exploded and he felt warm liquid splatter against the side of his face. Almost instantly the grip on his throat relaxed, then fell away – as did he, slumping against the chamber, his knees folding beneath him. Someone grabbed him by the elbow, steadying his descent to the floor. With his knees up to his chest he bent over, dropping his head and gagging, his chest heaving, lungs constricting tightly.

He became aware of a warm hand rubbing gentle circles against his back, and a soft voice beneath the high pitched ringing in his ears. "Deep breaths, Major. Slowly, in and out."

Obediently John did as he was told, and gradually the heaves lessened to an intense wheezing, and the pain around his chest lessened enough to allow him to speak. "What," gasp, "happened?"

"Power to the chamber failed. I tried rerouting the supply but there wasn't time, the computer must have an emergency failsafe."

Slowly Sheppard lifted his head to see McKay's feet stood a few meters ahead, then looked up to see the scientist, pale and frightened, wringing his hands in panic.

"It woke her up," McKay said, then shook his head despairingly. "Just like that. I tried to stop it but…" He broke off, and looked at Sheppard with a strange, detached expression. "Are you alright?"

He took a deep breath and felt it burn against his lungs. "Will be."

"Good. Good." The scientist wrapped his arms around himself in a tight hug. "Ah – you have blood on your face."

Confused, Sheppard lifted two trembling fingers to his cheek. They came away wet and red.

"It is not yours," Teyla reassured him, her voice a soft rumble against his ear.

"I had to stop her." Aiden was stood to Sheppard's right – he could see the younger man's boots. His voice sounded hesitant, nervous. "She was going to kill you, sir."

With great difficulty Sheppard managed to lever himself onto his knees, then with Teyla's hand beneath his arm he rose to an awkward standing position, pressing his back against the wall for support. He turned to look at the chamber – then immediately wished he hadn't.

The sleeper was dead, her pretty face now a mulch of gray matter and white bone against the inside of the chamber that had held her for thousands of years. One arm still dangled out of the pod, caught on the broken glass ceiling she had punched through.

"You had no choice," Teyla said softly.

Sheppard dragged his gaze away from the corpse and looked at Ford. "Thanks," he said, intently.

Aiden hesitated, then nodded. "Are you okay, sir?"

He swallowed convulsively and winced. "Throat hurts. Shoulder too." He paused. "Teyla…"

She moved a few inches to examine his wounds. "Several shallow cuts, but there is no glass. I believe your pack protected you from the worst."

"Huh." He offered both Ford and McKay an empty grin and levered himself off the wall to stand without Teyla's support. "I'm fine."

McKay frowned deeply but turned away, back to the console. "We should go back to the Stargate." His breath hitched, then smoothed out, adopting a distanced, scientific detachment. "I was wrong about the system's stability. The outpost computer developed a finely balanced network to cope with the gradual failure of its power source and our arrival must have disrupted that. We should go back to the southern section and stay there until we can boost the system."

"Agreed," Sheppard said, rubbing his throat and grimacing.


	5. Down the Rabbit Hole

_Thank you for all the reviews so far!_

**The Value of a Memory Is**

Down the Rabbit Hole

Now they were back in the well lit corridor McKay seemed to have conquered his earlier fears and had relaxed a little. Scanner held loosely in one hand, he weaved a path ahead of the others, looking into the rooms to the left and right of the corridor.

"I'm picking up some unusual energy readings."

"Gee," said Sheppard, hating the rasp of his voice, "there's something new."

He was ignored. McKay swung dramatically to the right, then back to the left, engrossed in the scanner's display.

"McKay," he snapped irritably, his voice hoarse. "If you don't start walking in a straight line I really will have Ford put a leash on you."

The scientist snorted, but didn't lift his head from the scanner. "Always resorting to violence. Typical military mindset."

"There's rope in my pack," Ford volunteered optimistically.

"McKay," Sheppard growled.

"Alright." Blue eyes lifted briefly from the scanner to shoot him a glare. "We don't have to rush."

"You said…" Ford began, exasperated.

"I know what I said. But the closer we get to the Stargate the stronger the system becomes. This area is almost entirely stable and that gives us an opportunity." His eyes gleamed. "Just think what we could learn! An abandoned outpost powered by at least one ZPM and the possibility of back-ups, who knows how much technology locked away, and, oh, a couple of hundred Ancients as well!"

"One of whom tried to kill Major Sheppard," Teyla put in pointedly.

"Yes, well." He waved a hand dismissively, but dropped it with a guilty look when he caught Sheppard glaring at him. "I'm sure it was just a reflex from being woken too quickly." His gaze dropped back to the scanner. "Radek will be green when he finds out he missed this. Hell, the entire department…"

"Will geek out over it, I'm sure."

McKay shot him another pointed look. "They might if we had a better idea of what this outpost is for."

"You think there's anything here that could help us fight the Wraith?" Ford asked.

"Could be."

"Nothing external," Teyla noted. "If this outpost is shielded by the planet environment, there would be no need to protect it from Wraith attacks."

"True," McKay mused. "But there might be other weapons. Maybe some more personal shields. Or chemical weapons…"

A distinctly ill expression crossed Aiden's face. "Chemical weapons?" he asked, and swallowed. "I think I've had enough of the Ancient's experiments."

Though his gaze was still buried in the scanner, McKay's expression flickered, and Sheppard glimpsed both grief and guilt before it was plastered over with a breezy: "Nothing medical, not from what we've seen. The layout of the labs suggests something mechanical, not chemical. Of course," he added, looking purposefully at Sheppard, "if I could have a proper look…"

"McKay," he growled, warningly.

"Oh come on," the scientist wheedled. "Give me one good reason why we should pass this all up."

"Oh," he retorted, "I don't know, maybe because one of the inhabitants just tried to strangle me?"

"I can see why that might put you off," McKay admitted with a lack of grace. "But as long as we avoid accidentally switching off any more stasis chambers we should be fine. Major, this place is a goldmine in terms of discovery and technology."

"We have not yet found anything of importance," Teyla pointed out. "The laboratories appear empty."

"So far. But we've only explored a fraction of this place and even if the labs are entirely empty – which I doubt - that still leaves any knowledge in the computer as well as possible power source."

"But isn't that powering the stasis chambers?" Ford objected. "We can't just take it."

McKay rolled his eyes. "I wasn't about to suggest mass murder, Lieutenant. But there may be spares. And there is always the solution of waking them up."

"Not just now," Sheppard interrupted, rubbing at his throat. It felt sore to the touch and it hurt to swallow, and he knew there would soon be bruises beneath his fingers. "Let's speak to Elizabeth first."

"Ah, yes. What exactly are we going to tell her?" McKay was unable to hide the smugness from his expression. "We found an Ancient outpost and a couple of hundred Ancients but we don't have any real information because we got a little spooked?"

"One of those Ancients is now dead because of our eagerness," Teyla interrupted, her voice low.

McKay had the sense to back down, his eyes flitting to Ford. "I know," he admitted, soberly.

Sheppard sighed heavily. Despite his own misgivings – understandable, he felt, under the circumstances – McKay was right. The outpost had more potential than any previous discovery and to return to Atlantis empty handed made little sense. "Alright," he agreed, slowly. "We'll explore a couple of rooms. But no more stasis chambers, and I want you to keep a close eye on the power levels."

McKay made a satisfied noise. "Of course." His gaze dropped back to the scanner and he resumed his weaving path down the corridor.

His team followed, warily. Teyla moved with caution in every step, gazing at the rooms as they passed.

"I wish we knew why the inhabitants of this base are in stasis."

"Maybe they're hiding out from the Wraith," Aiden suggested. One hand rested gently on the butt of his gun. It had not gone unnoticed by Sheppard that the younger man's enthusiasm had evaporated after the death of the female Ancient. "This planet is pretty invulnerable."

"But why would they not return to Earth with the rest?" Teyla said, softly.

Ford shrugged. "Maybe they stayed to be protectors, like Chaya."

"But they've been in stasis all that time," Sheppard pointed out. "They don't seem to be protecting anything."

"Perhaps they did not know of the others leaving," Teyla suggested. "Or perhaps they chose to simply wait until they returned."

"Long time to wait." Sheppard glanced at McKay, but the scientist had disappeared from view, ducking around a corner in the corridor. "Dammit. McKay!"

The scientist had drawn to a stop outside a large, ornate door set into the right wall. Its surface was a golden color, and pretty blues and greens formed a large pane of glass in its centre. McKay was bouncing gently on his heels, and turned to thrust the scanner into Sheppard's view.

"Do you see that power burst? Something big is in here."

"More stasis chambers?" Ford asked.

"No, the pattern is wrong for that. But something…" Rodney trailed off, peering at the scanner, then looking up at Sheppard. "A couple of rooms," he said, then before anyone could protest he hit the panel and the door opened.

The view was spectacular in its emptiness. No bigger than the conference room back at Atlantis, the floors and walls were white, and scored with black lines in a large grid pattern. On the right wall there was a stone bench running along one side, and on the opposite was set a large window elevated several meters off the ground. Whatever lay beyond was shrouded in darkness.

McKay stuck his head through the doorway, glanced briefly at the scanner, then stepped inside. He trotted across to the window whilst his teammates followed, showing more caution.

Sheppard moved to the right and allowed one hand to trace across the surface of the bench. The marble was cool to his touch, but unlike the rest of the base it seemed mysteriously dust free. "What is this?"

McKay hemmed, standing on his tiptoes to peer futilely in at the dark window. "An observation room of some sort. There's a faint energy signature indicating some heavy duty power cables beneath the floor and…" His explanation trailed off, his gaze lifting to the ceiling. "Huh."

"Huh? Is that a bad 'huh' or a good 'huh'?"

"Hmm."

Sheppard rolled his eyes, then pushed back from the bench and followed McKay's gaze upwards. The scientist was staring with intense interest at the ceiling – specifically, at several oddly shaped funnel devices built into the corners, and a square metal grill at its center. "What are they?"

"I'll need a closer look." McKay glanced back at the window. "Whatever is in there should be of use."

There was a sudden, soft swishing sound. Sheppard turned to see Ford leap back from the left hand wall. One of the white tiles was suddenly moving forward.

"What the hell?"

"I only bumped it!" Aiden protested, taking several steps back.

The tile moved out further, revealing a thick shelf built into the wall at about two feet from the floor. It was both wide and long enough, Sheppard realized, to remind him of only one thing.

"It appears to be a bed," Teyla said, taking a cautious step towards the shelf. She reached out with one hand and patted the soft mattress.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Sheppard murmured.

Still stood below the window, McKay made a sudden, alarmed noise. "Lieutenant, I don't know what you just activated but the power input to this room has suddenly increased ten fold…"

It was Teyla's turn to raise an alarm. "Major!"

Feeling a sudden buzz of adrenaline spiked panic, Sheppard turned in time to see the great, ornate door slide shut. He crossed the room in several strides, but was too late to do anything except pound a fist against its surface. "Dammit!" Turning, he demanded of McKay: "Get it open!"

McKay, suddenly looking a little pale, gave several quick nods. "Right." Slipping the scanner back into his vest, he moved quickly to the door, his fingers scrabbling at its surface. "I need to get into this control panel. If I can reroute the override switch…"

"Major!" Aiden again, stood with one hand pointing upwards. The metal funnels in the ceiling were suddenly alive, venting a thick white smoke which curled downwards towards the rooms occupants.

Sheppard whirled around to where McKay had managed to lever off the door panel. The scientist's left hand was up to its elbow in wires. "I'm trying!" he snapped, before John could utter a word. "I…" A blue shower of sparks erupted from the panel, causing his hand to jerk backwards. "Dammit!"

"Get it open," Sheppard ordered him, turning to his team. The white fog was descending quickly, leaving the oddly sweet taste of aniseed on his lips. "Teyla, see if you can break the glass of that room. Lieutenant ," and he gestured towards the funnels with one hand, the other pressing his sleeve over his face.

Aiden nodded, clambering up on the bed quickly. Sheppard did the same, stepping up onto the bench to reach out blindly to the ceiling. There was a funnel just above his head, but it was now lost amidst the smoke. Fumbling, his hand connected with something oddly shaped and metal. The mist was making it hard to think, and his reactions seemed sluggish, his fingers unresponsive.

Below him, Teyla was hammering at the glass with the butt end of her P90, but though the muscles of her arms trembled with the effort it was having little effect.

"Try shooting it!" Aiden called out, before cutting off with a cough, his head and upper torso hidden from Sheppard's view by the fog.

"No!" McKay called out urgently. "Bad idea! If it's bullet proof the ricochet could…" He paused, coughing. "Could…"

"McKay!" Sheppard called out, alarmed, hearing the slur in his friend's voice. There was no response, but after a second he heard the soft sound of a body hitting the floor.

"Major Shep…" Another cough from Aiden, then Sheppard saw a dark figure fall past him. He reached out to try and grab the Lieutenant, only for a wave of dizziness to grip him. He stumbled, lost his footing, and fell into the white.


	6. Tappan Traveler

**The Value of a Memory Is**

Tappan Traveler

When John was eight, his father built him a rope swing in the back garden.

A length of strong, sturdy rope looped several times around the thickest branch of an old cherry tree that stood in the centre of the Sheppard's oversized yard. The other end was tied securely around a tire John's father had rescued from the dregs of a garage sale.

John loved it. It was his third favorite childhood present, below the bike he had been gifted with for his tenth birthday, and his uncle's well-beloved collection of Airfix airplane models that hung from the ceiling until he moved out to college.

Now he was twelve years old, and a growth spurt had forced his parents to ban him from the swing. He was too heavy, the tree was too weak, it was too dangerous. Each warning came with a ticked off finger. When the garden was occupied he would obey the command, but if his mother was busy in the front room, and his father was working away, John would sneak out to the back yard and spend a happy hour feeling the breeze against his face.

He was always caught. If not found in the act, then the patch of worn turf and mud beneath the swing was a giveaway. John would receive a strict lecture from his mother, then be back out on the tire only hours later.

His father was away, fighting a war John didn't understand, and his mother was in the front garden tending to her roses. John, tall and gangly, with skin tanned by the sun and a shock of unruly hair that refused to obey his mother's clippers, stepped lightly down the garden path until he reached the cherry tree.

Reverently he reached out and touched the bark, rough and gnarled with age. With foresight came certainty – this would be his last ride, the last game. A month from now his mother would sit him down on the couch and tell him, with a soft voice and sad eyes, that she had cancer. Six months later it was just him and his dad, returned from service.

He laced one hand around the rope and curled the other beneath. It rubbed against blisters on his skin, formed through the many months. More evidence to betray his disobedience. With ease he pulled his weight up and laced his long legs around the tire, bending his knees so his feet wouldn't touch the ground.

The movement caused the tire to swing, and John rocked his body forward, building momentum. His speed started to increase, as did his height, lifting him three or four meters into the air at its peak, dropping him close to the ground in the dip, his shoes scuffing against the mud. The wind whistled past his ears, the branch above him creaked in protest, and John Sheppard closed his eyes and dreamt he was flying.

There was a sudden, very loud snap, and then he was.

Flying through the air, hurtling up for what seemed like several beautifully long seconds, the blue sky beneath him and the ground above, John unlocking his hands from the useless rope and stretching out. Gravity, seeming to remember its responsibility, took hold moments later and he dropped exactly like a bird doesn't, landing on the sun-baked ground torso first, putting one hand out to cushion the impact. His arm made a horrible noise, the sound of snapping bone, and crumpled beneath him, crushed by his body.

With a supreme effort John managed to roll over and then lay with his back against the grass, panting heavily against the pain and cradling his broken arm to his chest. Dimly he heard his mother scream, but it seemed at a great distance, and oddly unimportant. Disconnectedly Sheppard stared up into the brilliant blue sky and grinned.

* * *

"_These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. It's continuing mission, to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations…"_

"To boldly go where no one has gone before," Rodney chorused. He kept his voice soft, careful not to disturb the body lying curled against his.

She had fallen asleep before the end of the movie, a chick-flick he had grudgingly allowed her to pick in penance for his late arrival to dinner. With great care he had managed to extricate the television remote from down a crack in the sofa and now rested it gently on his thigh with one hand poised over the volume button.

She stirred a little at the theme music, released a soft sigh, and pressed herself closer into his shoulder. Her arm looped lightly across his waist and McKay could feel the movements of her chest as she breathed.

Her hair tickled his chin and he wriggled his nose ineffectually. Carefully releasing his hold on the remote he lifted his hand and scratched the offended area, then dropped it so his fingers could gently caress her cheek. Her lips moved in a silent whisper of words, then stilled.

Turning his gaze from the television screen, Rodney looked across the room to the remains of a candlelit dinner, and the coat he had thrown so carelessly across the back of a chair. He dropped his eyes to stare at a bulge in the jacket pocket, square shaped and bulky. It had formed an odd, alien weight, knocking uncomfortably against his hip as he had walked back to the lab from the shop, moving quickly to avoid running over his allocated lunch hour.

When she had been in the kitchen fetching the specially prepared, citrus free desert, he had pulled it out. He had rested the item in his hand, closed his fingers over its surface, opened it quickly to catch a glimpse of silver and sparkles. Now or never, he told himself, fight or flight, he whispered. To prove he was everything his mother accused him of not being.

Of being capable of something more, something stronger than what he paraded before his fellow scientists. More than brains, more than knowledge.

Now or never.

She shifted again, her left leg pushing gently between his. Rodney moved obediently, their bodies entwining on the sofa, feeling her breath hot against his skin.

Who was he kidding?

He buckled, picked never, and became the coward his sister said he was.

Tomorrow he would take it back to the shop.

* * *

There would be no nightmares tonight.

Teyla curled into the crook of her father's arm, and allowed herself a sleepy smile as his fingers gently brushed her hair.

She loved his hands. They were large, dangerous with their strength, but gentle in their ministrations. Calluses ran across the surface of his palm, a result from toiling against wood and sweat beneath the hot, seasonal sun. Thick, raised veins formed a pattern across the back, and when curled against him she would trace her own, soft fingers against them and feel his pulse against her skin.

It had been his hands she had seen first, lying beneath a dense bush amidst the leaves and twigs of the forest floor. They had parted the branches deftly then reached down to pick her up without effort, and pull her, sobbing, to his chest.

Later, he would scold her, and look forbidding, and for a short while, deny her the respect she craved from him. She was too young, he had told her, to go into the forest alone. She had made promises to her mother, and then broken them, and been lost for hours as punishment.

But that was later. That night there were no recriminations, not from her father, whose arms had carried her the whole way back to the village. And not from her mother, who had burst into tears at the sight of them, and held them both in a deep, tight embrace. Teyla had then been whisked off to bathe, change from her torn and muddy clothes, and then been instructed to sit on the bed whilst her mother had carefully brushed her long hair.

For once Teyla had not protested. She sat silently and allowed her mother to tug and pull at the rebellious strands without once raising a note of complaint. And when her mother's breath had hitched, and the brush's movements had stilled, Teyla had turned and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, and promised brokenly that she would never, ever, run off on her own again.

* * *

"Aiden!"

His grandmother had perfected the call over many years, accenting the 'd' and dragging the 'a' and 'I' into a drawl, the tone rising to a higher pitch on the second syllable. It was casual, familiar, and more reassuring than the fast stutter of his name that scolded and reprimanded.

"Aiden!"

This time it held a note of urgency and impatience. Aiden took the stairs two at a time, his cousin Josh just behind him, their feet pounding on the floorboards.

Josh's elder sister Marissa stood at the bottom, her arms folded, and looking more and more like Ford's aunt every day. The eleven years between her and Josh had always given her an inflated sense of superiority, and though both Josh and Aiden were now head and shoulders above her she still took it upon herself to be their grandmother's spokesperson.

"We were ready to serve ten minutes ago, and you said you would do the table."

The last part was directed at Josh, fifteen years old and awkwardly insecure. He ducked his head. "I forgot."

"There's a surprise." She shot a glare at Aiden. "What about you?"

"I peeled!" he protested. "Potatoes and carrots!"

"Hmm." She scowled, turned smartly on her heel, and headed towards the kitchen. "At least you've both cleaned up."

Aiden flashed her a grin, ducking underneath the ceiling and hopping down the last two steps. The den had been turned into a temporary dining area, since the kitchen was too small to hold the whole family. Three tables were covered under two large tablecloths, and an array of mismatching chairs clustered around them. His grandfather was sat at the far end, his hands clasped and resting between his knife and fork.

"Good game?" the older man asked, raising an eyebrow at his grandsons.

Aiden punched Josh on the arm gently, then dropped into a chair. "He beat me. Four out of five."

Josh flushed, taking a seat beside his cousin. "The third game was luck."

"Potatoes," came a declaration from the kitchen. Meredith appeared from the kitchen, oven gloves over her hands to protect her from the heated casserole dish she now placed on the table. A simple white blouse flowed over the slight bump of her stomach. "There's more in the kitchen."

"Vegetables." Aiden's aunt followed, placing two bowls down before Josh. "You'll eat at least two kinds," she told him. "And you'll like them."

Aiden watched his cousin screw his face up in a look of disgust, and kicked him sharply under the table.

"Great," Josh managed.

His mother smiled approvingly, then took up a seat at the opposite end to her father. "There's sauce already on the table, and there's a jug of juice cooling in the fridge if you finish that one."

"Green bean salad," came a voice from the kitchen, followed by the appearance of Lindsay, Aiden's younger cousin and Josh's elder sister. She deposited her cargo onto the table before taking a seat beside Meredith.

"And…" Aiden said expectantly, gripping knife and fork in his fists and holding them upright. Beside him Josh did the same.

"Turkey," said his grandmother, stepping out of the kitchen in time with Marissa, who held the other side of the basting tray. Together they manhandled the oversized bird to place it before Aiden's grandfather, then took the remaining seats at the table.

Aiden smiled, watching his grandfather theatrically swipe the carving knife across the sharpener with a flourish. It was a ritual that never changed despite the years, and one Aiden suddenly realized he would miss. He felt a deep, painful ache in his chest, a sensation of both longing and regret, looking around the table at his family.

A week ago he had received official notification of his acceptance onto the Atlantis expedition. Aiden still hadn't told his family. Waiting for the right moment, he lied to himself. He had spent time away before, trapped in Cheyenne during lockdowns, or on off-world missions to alien worlds, but not like this.

To make a trip to another galaxy, and know the journey was likely to be one-way…

The excitement suddenly died within him, buried under intense pangs of homesickness and longing. He could say no, he could ask for reassignment, explain he had commitments. There were options. He didn't have to go.

"Wait!" Marissa's shrill voice cut abruptly through his thoughts. "Salt. We don't have salt."

"We can live without salt," their grandfather said.

"No, no." She shook her head. "It has to be done right. Aiden, go get it."

He blinked, momentarily thrown. "What?"

"The salt," his grandmother said, giving him a broad smile. "Make your cousin happy, Aiden."

"Oh." He nodded. "Sure." Rising from the table, he left the family bickering over the vegetables and headed to the kitchen.

He had told himself this was the right time. They were all together – a rare occasion, and one that was becoming harder and harder to achieve, as his cousins grew older and built families of their own.

But now it came to it, the words would not come, and the folded paper in his pocket felt a dead weight, pulling him down.

He stepped into the kitchen and moved towards the cupboard beside the fridge. Its surface was a tribute to the family: aging photos of his parents in uniform, crude drawings done by his cousins when they were younger, a yellowed and wrinkled school report from Josh's school. He paused for a moment to touch the edge of his parent's photo reverently.

"Aiden!"

Meredith's voice. He turned sharply to send back a retort, but the dining room was gone, as was the kitchen – photos evaporating under his touch, fridge and cupboards gone. He looked down to see the very floor beneath his feet fade, and he was suddenly surrounded by white…

* * *


	7. What the Hell?

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Kate, Elisa, Inkysmom and Snow's Lucky Cat... you've won a Scottish Doctor covered in jam! Now on with the story. Unfortunately this chapter is a little... expositiony. Sorry! More flashbacks next chapter, feel free to skim read this one._

**The Value of a Memory Is**

Chapter Seven - What the Hell?

"What the hell just happened?"

McKay's voice held just the right amount of whine to assure Sheppard that the physicist was completely unharmed. He stared at the absence of a ceiling for a second, feeling an invisible floor beneath his back, and called out cautiously: "Ford? Teyla?"

"Sir."

"I am here, Major." A slender hand suddenly thrust itself into his vision. He gripped it firmly and allowed Teyla to help him to his feet. He felt dizzy, and a little nauseous.

"What…" He stopped, then looked around them. "No, correction – _where_ are we?"

There was nothing. Where there should have been walls, or a ceiling, there was merely null, a void that stretched as far as Sheppard could see. He looked to his right, then to his left, then up, but decided to avoid looking down for fear of vertigo.

"We were in that room," Ford said, slowly. "The one on the Ancient outpost. It was full of smoke and I think I passed out." He gave an experimental cough. "Maybe we're dead."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Right. And this is heaven, I suppose."

Teyla had a deep frown on her face. "This does not resemble the resting place from the stories of my people. And I do not remember dying."

Aiden scuffed his left boot against his right, and looked briefly down to the floor. "But, ah - did anyone else have a kind of, um, life flashing before your life moment?"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your entire life?"

"Well, just a small part of it. One thing, really. I…" Ford cut off and glanced up at his CO. "For a minute I was – it was like I was back home."

"A dream," McKay put in, his tone oddly subdued.

"No. More than a dream." Teyla took a step forward. "It was as though I was reliving part of my life. It was part of my past, but the details were clear and I truly believed I was there."

Sheppard looked slowly between his three team members. "Yeah," he drawled, "I think I know what you're talking about. I was a kid, out playing in the yard."

"It was last Thanksgiving," Aiden explained. "I was gonna tell my family about me leaving."

"I was also a child," Teyla said thoughtfully. "My father was comforting me after I had got lost in the forest."

Sheppard glanced at McKay, who shrugged.

"I was back at my apartment, watching Star Trek."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but was met with only a steely, determined look in return, and decided not to bother pressing the issue. "So," he continued, struggling to understand, "we all relive some event from our past and we end up – where?"

"Not the afterlife," McKay said, pointedly.

Sheppard glared at him. "Some answers would be nice, McKay. Any clue as to what that room did?"

The scientist scowled. "I was a little too busy falling unconscious to make any theories, Major."

"Ah…" Ford shifted hesitantly, "what's that?"

He pointed towards the distance where something small and dark was speeding towards them, growing larger and larger against the white. Sheppard took a step back, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, but before he could pull the weapon from its holster the shape was upon them. It resolved itself into a man; a tall, pale skinned, bald man in a long cream robe, who drew to a sudden stop in front of the group.

Dipping his head in greeting the man gave a beatific smile and gestured widely at the emptiness before burying his arms in his sleeves. "Welcome, players. Did you enjoy your prologue?"

Seeing no weapon, Sheppard lowered his hand slowly and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should start by telling us where the hell we are."

The man gave another eerie smile. "The start. Did you enjoy your prologue?"

Teyla stepped forward, returning the man's greeting by bowing her head. "We did, thank you. Perhaps you could tell us your name?"

"I am the guide."

Sheppard shifted his weight between his feet, eyeing the stranger cautiously. "The guide? No name? Something a little more personal?"

"My name is Teyla Emmagan," Teyla explained, pointing in turn at her team mates. "This is Major Sheppard, Doctor McKay, and Lieutenant Ford. We come from another planet, the city of…"

"I am the guide," the man repeated, his expression unwavering.

"Yeah," Sheppard interrupted, "we get it. The guide. Where are we? How did we get here?"

"You are at the start. Every player returns here after finishing a level."

There was something oddly stilted about the man's voice, his tone too precise, too formal. John frowned, glancing at his team mates.

McKay stood to his left, his forehead furrowed in deep concentration.

"McKay?"

Suddenly the physicist took a step forward and plunged his arm deep into the stranger's chest. Choking in surprise, Sheppard tried to grab at McKay's arm, but stopped when he saw the effect the invasion was having on the guide. The man's body was flickering, his stomach distorting around McKay's hand, but the glassy eyes and fixed smile remained.

"Hologram," McKay declared smugly, waving his arm several times from side to side before removing his hand. The image of the guide shimmered briefly. "Obvious. The AI is pretty basic."

"AI?" Ford asked, confused, taking a step back.

"Artificial intelligence." The scientist started to pace around the hologram, examining it with a critical eye. The guide didn't blink, staring calmly through McKay as though he wasn't there. "Impressive to look at but not much for responses. I knew the Ancients were experimenting with it, the city's computer system proves that but…"

"Hold on," Sheppard interrupted, gesturing at the hologram, "you mean that he - it - is a computer?"

"Did I not just say that?"

"It has intelligence?" Teyla asked, crinkling her forehead.

"Hardly." McKay came to a stop in front of the guide and stared hard at him. "You're not real, are you?"

The hologram blinked slowly, then replied: "I am the guide. I will lead you through the game."

"But you're not alive?" McKay pressed. "You're part of the computer."

"My purpose is to…"

"I get it," the physicist interrupted, waving a hand dismissively and skimming the surface of the projection. He turned back to his team. "It's nothing more than coded instructions, a set of responses programmed into the computer and designed to interact with us as though it's real. But it isn't particularly sophisticated. I graduated with guys who could cook up something better in their lunch hour." He paused, and said wistfully, "Some of those programs were pretty effective. There was one titled Chantelle…"

"Firmly under the subject of too much information," Sheppard interrupted quickly. "Enough Dungeons and Dragons. Hologram or not, I want to know where the hell are we and how do we get back to the 'gate?"

"You are in the game," the guide helpfully explained.

"You keep saying that," he shot back, "but that doesn't make things any clearer."

McKay rolled his eyes and stepped in front of Sheppard. "What is the game?" he asked, enunciating clearly.

"The game was designed to entertain the players during their sleep. By using the memories of the participants the game builds a real-time environment with which the players can interact. Each player must use their own skill set to achieve each goal and continue to the next level."

"Virtual reality," McKay explained, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. "The computer scans our memories and reconstructs them here."

Sheppard massaged his arm. "It felt real enough at the time."

"So this is like that thing in Star Trek?" Aiden asked.

He was answered with a snort. "Don't be ridiculous, Lieutenant. The holodeck was fantasy, a scientific impossibility." McKay turned back to the guide. "How is it done?"

"The atmosphere of the game room or chamber is carefully maintained to keep each player in a state of unconscious receptiveness," the hologram replied, as though reciting from a manual. "Subharmonic frequencies are used to trigger the player's sensory perceptions."

"Think less Star Trek, more Keanu Reeves in the Matrix," McKay summed up succinctly.

Teyla was looking increasingly confused. "So this place is not real? We are still in the locked room, unconscious?"

"And the people in the chambers," Sheppard continued slowly. "They're all playing this game too?"

The guide nodded. "The game was designed to entertain them while they wait."

"While they wait for what?"

"Until the enemy is no longer a threat."

McKay snapped his fingers triumphantly. "The Wraith."

The hologram inclined its head. "They wait for the war to be over."

"But…" Ford began, before a quick hand swipe from Sheppard forced him to close his mouth, sealing his response.

"So," Sheppard continued smoothly, "how do we exit the game?"

"By completing the game."

"No, how do we exit _now_?"

"You must complete the game to exit," the hologram repeated patiently.

"We do not wish to participate in this game," Teyla put in, taking a step forward. "We wish to return to the room we were in before."

"You must complete…"

"Look," Ford interrupted, "How about you tell us what we have to do to complete the game?"

The hologram fixed him with a delighted smile. "Then you are ready to begin?"

"Is that the only way we're going to get out of here?" Sheppard demanded.

"You must complete…"

"We get it!" McKay snapped, irritably. "God, my old Commodore was more sophisticated than you." He paused. "Could be a side-effect of the power fluctuations. I wonder…"

"McKay," Sheppard growled, taking a deliberate step forward. He turned back to the guide. "You said there were levels, right? Easy to hard?"

The guide nodded.

"Then let's start easy."

Teyla's eyes widened. "Major, are you suggesting we participate in this game?"

"Doesn't look like we've got any choice." He sighed heavily. "Give Elizabeth a couple of hours without us checking in and she'll send a recovery team. We just have to put up with this for as long as it takes them to get us out of here."

She looked doubtful, but nodded. "Very well. Must we play alone?"

"Single or group," the guide said, "but skill sets cannot be shared."

"Group," Sheppard said, without pausing.

The hologram nodded, clapped its hands, and disappeared. The white light that surrounded the team started to dim, filling the space with shadows. Alarmed, Sheppard turned to see Teyla and Ford fading, their outlines growing indistinct, dissolving into twisted silhouettes before vanishing into the black.

"Major!" McKay was panicking, backing away from the darkness that now surrounded them. "What did you do?"

"Me!" Sheppard demanded, struggling to see the physicist in the lessening light. "You said this room was safe! You think this is part of the game?"

McKay opened his mouth to respond, but he had no chance to voice them before he disappeared completely. Sheppard lunged forward, instinct driving him to try and grab the scientist, but the ground suddenly opened up beneath his feet.

With an alarmed cry, he fell.


	8. Shame

**The Value of a Memory Is**

Chapter Eight - Shame

Something hard and sharp dug into his ribs. Snorting, John opened his eyes and blinked sleepily.

"What?"

"Shush," scolded a voice. Sheppard turned slowly to see a young girl glaring from the seat beside him.

"Sorry," he mouthed back, but she ignored him with a swish of her blonde hair. Wary of making another sound, Sheppard started to take in his surroundings.

He was in a classroom, sat behind an uncomfortably small desk, the top resting on his knees. Around twenty identical desks stood in several rows either side of him, and every one was occupied. The audience was young, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old and mostly male, bent over their books or staring forward with bored expressions. The walls were decorated with a number of science themed posters, and there were Bunsen burners and tripods stood about the benches that lined the walls. The floor sloped slightly to the head of the classroom, and it currently made home to a row of four chairs and their three uncomfortable looking occupants, a table bearing something under a white sheet, and a desk, at which McKay stood.

The physicist looked strangely out of place, older than his audience by two decades but wearing the jeans and t-shirt of the younger generation. His expression was twisted into one he normally saved for Kavanagh-patronizing, a regular sport on Atlantis but one rarely played outside of the labs. For the smug, arrogant Rodney McKay, his audience had the same level of intelligence and worth as something he had scraped off his shoe.

"And so the cosmic ray diurnal variation, as observed by neuron monitors and muon telescopes, underwent a dramatic swing in…"

Sheppard experimentally waved at his friend. Several heads turned towards him in confusion, but none belonged to the physicist. An older man dressed in plaid scowled disapprovingly in his direction, then resumed his slouch against the wall. The teacher, he guessed. Sighing, Sheppard leant forward in his seat and searched the class for his missing team mates.

Teyla was sat two rows from the front, looking stiff and uncomfortable. Sheppard considered shouting for her but the teacher was giving him another glare. He toyed briefly with the idea of passing a note to her, then dismissed it as too juvenile. Twisting his head round, he caught a glimpse of Ford, sat on the back row between two ginger boys. The Lieutenant caught his gaze, frowning and mouthing 'sir?' at him.

Sheppard shrugged helplessly, turning back to watch McKay.

The physicist was working himself up over his lecture, crackling with energy, the smug expression still fixed on his face. "So we see eighteen that have spectral distributions consistent with debris disks, a possible signature of…"

"Excuse me." The blonde had raised her hand. McKay stopped talking and raised his head, giving her a scathing look.

"Yes? What?"

"Wouldn't gaps be undetectable in the spectral energy…"

"Yes," the physicist snapped back dismissively, "but the features become apparent in visibility amplitude curves." He sighed despairingly, shuffled his notes, and continued talking. The blonde flushed red and buried her gaze back into her books.

Behind him, the three young men sat on the chairs had gotten to their feet and were clustered around the table, fiddling with the object under the white sheet.

Sheppard instantly decided he didn't like them. The tallest reminded him of Kavanagh, with long, straggly brown hair, his eyes small and his fingers long and thin. The other two were shorter and stockier, one bearing a trail of pubescent dark fuzz across his upper lip, and the other clinically obese. Seeming to have finished their interference with the hidden object, the Kavanagh-like replaced the sheet and then wheeled the table across to McKay.

The physicist stepped down from the desk, his face never turning away from the audience. Continuing to talk with the same, superior smugness, he removed the sheet with a flourish, revealing a complicated contraption underneath. Something built of wires and metal spheres and a number of blinking lights. Sheppard had no clue as to its purpose, and the words currently spewing from McKay's mouth did little to help.

"The brightness of lines relative to the strong continuum, in conjunction with plasma models gives us…"

Inwardly Sheppard groaned. McKay never made the best impression, and John had been ready to despise the man after their first encounter. The intense period of experimentation that preceded their arrival on Atlantis, Sheppard used as McKay's guinea pig for every Ancient artifact in storage, had eventually led to small talk, then banter, and finally snark. Watching McKay walk into the depths of an energy sucking alien to save a city had sealed the deal. He was a good man, but it took a lot to reveal it.

He figured that McKay's classmates had never had the same experience. Student McKay was pompous and arrogant, rubbing his genius in the face of every classmate. Most seemed bored by him, dismissive of a lecture they did not want to understand. The others…

Sheppard looked back to his friend. McKay was fiddling with the object, demonstrating one of his complicated points with the aid of a flashing LED. His three compatriots stood at the back, smirking, exchanging subtle glances.

Stood in front of the blackboard, McKay issued a familiar snap-pop movement with his hands, then started manipulating two of the silver spheres together. He was still babbling, talking a mile a minute, a spiel of science terms and seven-syllable words.

Sheppard knew, instantly, what was coming. Hell, if he had known someone as pompous and egocentric as McKay in school, he'd have had the same idea.

The instant the two balls touched they released a flash of white light and the ear-splitting sound of the air cracking. Blue sparks showered between McKay's hands and the device and he staggered backwards, falling to the floor and landing butt first. His face was bright red and there were streaks of soot across his forehead and cheeks, his t-shirt was singed, and his thinning hair was suddenly defying gravity, stuck up in fine, wavy threads.

The entire class burst into laughter, and unable to stop himself, so did Sheppard.

His friend seemed unharmed, but the smugness was wiped from his face, replaced by a look of anger and intense embarrassment. He staggered to his feet, one hand desperately trying to smooth his hair, and for several seconds he stared out at the crowd, oblivious to the sudden arrival of his teacher.

The scientist's eyes locked onto John's, and for a moment the expression of anger flickered, replaced by shame and disappointment. Swept by a sudden wave of guilt, Sheppard stopped laughing, ready to rise from his seat and rescue McKay from the centre of the hysterical maelstrom. But his friend had turned away and was now limping towards the door, his back bowed, ignoring his the mouthed insults from his three classmates.

"Perhaps," the teacher said loudly, over the noise, "we should continue this another period. Class dismissed."

Instantly the audience started to move, grabbing their books and nudging sleeping friends. The sound of laughter continued echo loudly, failing to be drowned out by the departing feet. With his access to the aisle now free, Sheppard rose to his feet and headed away from the crowd, towards the front of the classroom. Teyla was ahead of him, ignoring the teacher and pushing past the overweight boy to disappear after McKay.

Sheppard could hear the three boys sniggering as he approached. The Kavanagh-like was busy replacing the sheet on top of the machine, and ignored the dark look shot in his direction.

Ford trotted up beside Sheppard, clearly trying to restrain a grin. "Ouch."

"Yeah," he replied, his hand closing around the door handle. It pushed open easily but the school corridor he expected did not appear. The sudden light left retina burns on his eyes, and he blinked away the dark spots.

They were back in the void. Endless white stretched out around them, and when Sheppard turned around it was to find the door he had passed through now free standing, the walls of the classroom gone.

McKay stood several meters away, dressed once more in his uniform. The scorch marks had disappeared but his face was still bright red and he was desperately trying to smooth down his hair. It seemed to be refusing, clinging to the man's hands from static.

Sheppard smirked, only for Teyla to turn round and give him a dark, unforgiving glare.

"Major."

"Sorry," he apologized, but found himself unable to straighten his face.

"Find that amusing, did we?" McKay shot back, scowling.

"Oh come on," Sheppard pleaded, trying to contain his snorts. "You've got to admit, you kind of deserved it, McKay."

"Oh sure. I'm glad you all had a good laugh."

"Well," Ford glanced at Sheppard, sharing a grin, "it was pretty funny."

"Right," Rodney snarled. "Very funny. I bet you had a good laugh when you stepped over kids like me on your way to the locker room." He turned on his heel and stalked across the white.

"Hey!" Sheppard sobered, stepping forward to try to grab McKay's arm. "Calm down!"

"No," the scientist growled, turning on him, "you _hey_. You have no idea of what it's like to be the kid everyone kicks, hits, spits on, yells at, or just plain ignores. You've got no clue how it feels to be that kid, and face that _every_ day of your childhood life. Don't try and tell me to calm down." He was shaking with rage, lips drawn back thinly.

Ford put in: "But teachers -"

"Oh, please. You think any teacher likes being outsmarted by an eighth grader?"

Sheppard stepped back, raised his hands. "Alright. Sorry, McKay. We didn't think."

"Yeah," Ford offered, his face drawn in genuine remorse. "We're really sorry."

McKay's face hardened at what he viewed as pity. "Don't be," he snapped. "I was better than them. That's what they saw, and that's why they all hated me." He turned his back on Sheppard and folded his arms defensively over his chest.

Ford took a step towards him, but Sheppard put out a hand, shook his head silently. Whatever demons that last image had brought up in McKay, they were his alone to deal with.

"Major Sheppard." Teyla's expression still carried the hint of a frown, and her voice was clipped and curt. "Perhaps we should continue." She walked towards the door. "I believe this is will lead us to the next part of the game."

He flinched under her gaze. "Right. I'll go first."

"No." She glanced at McKay, who still had his back to them, and then looked back at Sheppard. "I will go."

"Teyla…"

"For crying out loud," McKay snapped, turning suddenly, "I realize it was your damn idea to play along with this, but it doesn't matter who's going next. Let's just get on with it."

Teyla caught Sheppard's gaze meaningfully for a moment. Then her hand depressed handle and she opened the door wide, blocking his view inside.

He glanced backwards. "McKay, Lieutenant."

Ford nodded, and McKay turned. He had managed to flatten his hair, but his face was still pinched tight and he did not look at Sheppard, brushing past him to follow Teyla through the door.

Aiden glanced at his superior and grimaced. "I guess an apology isn't going to cut it."

"He'll be fine by the time we get to Atlantis." Sheppard sighed deeply, and gestured towards the door. "Like he says, let's just get on with it."


	9. First Step

**The Value of a Memory Is**

Chapter Nine - First Step

They were in a forest. Tall, leafy trees towered over them, shifting green light onto the ground below. Clumps of ferns clung to the shade, and birds could be heard calling to each other overhead.

It called home to Teyla. Her body and soul ached for it, a deep longing that Atlantis, in all its glory, could not cure. She knew the forest; every tree, every bush, every dangerous root and treacherous rock.

But it was too perfect. Recreated from memories, the blanks filled in with warm emotion and fondness for a place she had lost. There was something about the landscape that felt odd to her, alien and cold. Even if Teyla had not seen the computer doorway stood beside a large tree, the undercurrent of danger was enough to dispel her hope.

"Teyla, wait."

She could hear Sheppard hurrying after her, but she did not slow her feet, still angry on McKay's behalf. The man was arrogant, yes, but he was also a friend, and the two men seemed to have forgotten that.

The Major trotted up beside her, his expression one of remorse. "Look, I'm sorry."

She shot a dark glance at him. "It is not me you should apologize to."

Sheppard flushed slightly. "This is a group game. We shouldn't split up."

Behind him she could hear the clumsy trek of McKay, snapping twigs and crushing dry leaves under his feet; and Aiden, full of apologies and small jibes designed to get the scientist talking. Softening slightly at the sounds of attrition, Teyla allowed: "Perhaps not. Nevertheless," and she nodded towards her goal, "this is my memory. I must be the one to complete it."

Ahead lay the informal arena chosen for all matches. A patch of land had been cleared within the forest, stripped of all plant life until only the red earth remained. Several uprooted trees provided seats to the crowd, when there was one. Most challenges went unseen, training matches between mentor and student. Teyla had spent much of her childhood here, in her younger years watching the older warriors with awe, then later in the circle herself, struggling to match her father's blows.

Despite the power behind each stroke, he had never struck her. Her father could stop a swing in midair, and though the unreleased energy sent vibrations down his arm and chest, his weapon would not falter.

The skill was the second he had taught her. The first, and the most important, was knowing when to use force, and when to use words.

This would be her first challenge. Few were accepted into the circle but she had worked hard and earned her place amongst the warriors, though females were still rare and she was younger than all of them. This was a chance to prove herself, to achieve all her father hoped for her. To find her place, and be happy there.

"Teyla."

The cough from Sheppard pulled her unnervingly back into the present. He was looking at her with an expression of concern, and behind him Ford and McKay carried the same quizzical faces.

"What's going on?"

"The circle ahead of us is where I learnt to fight, Major. My people used it as a training ground, to learn the skills passed down from our predecessors." She looked ahead and saw several figures stood in the clearing. "Its position changes over the seasons, as the ground is washed away by the rain, but it survives. There is one on the mainland, just as there was one on Athos. I…" Her voice trailed off, her attention drawn to a large man sat on a tree trunk to the right.

His shoulders, the curve of his back, the light of the sun on his hair. His large hands folded in his lap.

"Teyla?"

She blinked hard, against the prickling of sudden tears, and answered only after she had regained control. "My father."

Aiden glanced ahead, at the figures in the circle. "When was this?"

She offered him a smile. "Too long ago. This is my first fight."

McKay raised an eyebrow. "There?"

"Students may challenge other students, to prove their worth as warriors, to build respect. It is also an invitation for others to witness a warrior's new skills."

They had reached the edge of the clearing, and the men already sat around the circle glanced at her, dipping their heads in greeting. They seemed not to notice her teammates, and her father had not yet turned.

But one man had seen her. He had long, dark hair tied back from his face, and he was taller than Teyla by several hands. Dressed in a simple tunic and pants, he raised his weapons towards her in greeting.

"His name is Terel," Teyla explained, to Sheppard's unspoken question. "He is - _was_ - several years older than me when I took him as my challenger, more advanced in his training. Tradition said I should have chosen an equal."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Sheppard said softly, grinning.

She did not return his smile, looking back towards the circle. Her father was now standing, looking towards her, and he met her gaze and smiled.

For a moment Teyla feared she might faint.

"Teyla." Aiden's hand was on her arm. "This isn't real. You don't have to go through with this."

"He's right," McKay added. "We should be able to quit and go back to the beginning if we want to."

She shook her head firmly. "No. I want to do this."

Her father was beckoning her towards the ring, and for a moment she thought she glimpsed her own eyes reflected in his.

"Alright," Sheppard conceded. "Tell us how we can help."

"You cannot," she replied simply, stepping forward into the clearing. Terel came to greet her, his smile belied by the cold behind his eyes.

"Teyla. You have brought an audience."

She nodded, gesturing at her team mates to sit down on the benches. "As have you," she replied, looking towards Terel's friends.

He glanced backwards and nodded. "They are intrigued by your challenge."

"I am pleased you accepted."

He nodded, and gave another smile. "With your father as leader of the circle, I could not object." Then he stepped aside, allowing her to enter the central circle.

It was only now Teyla realized her change of attire, her uniform replaced by the soft folds of her skirt. Her mother had presented her with the gift on the event of her first lesson, giving reason to the long nights spent sewing by the light of the fire. Her weapons were by her side, polished and smooth.

Terel took up his position on the other side of the circle. Her father stepped into the center, inclining his head at the audience; Terel's entourage sat on one side, and the three Atlanteans took their reluctant seats on a large tree trunk.

"You are all aware of the challenge. Teyla Emmagan has taken Terel Albaran as her opponent, and he has accepted." He turned his gaze towards Sheppard and his team. "There will be no intervention by the observers. This is between the two challengers." Then he turned back to the center of the ring and bowed, low.

Teyla tore her gaze away from him as her father took his seat, turning to face Terel. The young man walked the few steps across to greet her. No words were needed, but as Teyla dipped her forehead to touch his, she heard him whisper: "I hope, for your father's sake, you do not lose too badly."

His words came from the arrogance of youth, and though Teyla knew better than to be taunted she bristled, moving away a little too quickly.

Behind her, she could hear the hushed voices of her teammates.

"Do you think we get to cheer?"

"I'm not sure this is a cheering occasion, Lieutenant."

Teyla deliberately blocked their voices out, turning all her attention to her opponent. Terel had his weapons raised at shoulder height in the traditional starting position, but his left foot was positioned a little further back than the right to prepare for a low hit. She adjusted her own position accordingly, and when the call of her father rang out across the clearing, signaling the start, she stepped sideways and easily missed his blow.

She was aware of a quiet, appreciative whistle from Sheppard, and an impressed, soft _hmmph_ noise from her father.

Terel compensated for his failure quickly, seeming angered by her easy deflection of his blow. He was not fast enough to avoid a smart rap across his right shoulder, but as he pulled his weight backwards he swung his hand and clipped Teyla's hip. It signaled the start of an exchange of blows, fast and furious, with enough strength and speed to leave Teyla breathless, struggling to keep up.

Had she faced him as an adult, as the Athosian leader, she would have no trouble in meeting his every strike. She could have ended this quickly. But here, in the memory of her youth, she was an inexperienced student without a warrior's past, and her body insisted on obeying the rules of the game. Every swing felt weak, every step sluggish and Terel preyed on her clumsiness. For every one of her failures he seemed improved. The real Terel had been uneasy with his own skin, had acted on thought and logic, not instinct. During a culling it had been his undoing.

The man before her now shared none of his insecurities. Refusing to repeat his earlier mistake, Terel moved fluidly, like an animal. He broke her every defense, countered her every attack, and soon her body bore the marks of his weapon, on her back, shoulder, thigh and calves.

And for every blow, for every unrestrained gasp she heard from McKay or Ford, she felt her father's scrutiny. She could not remember the moves he had taught her, she could not recall his teachings. It felt as though this were her very first fight, and she had had no training. The Teyla Emmagan of Atlantis struggled to fight back, her mind protesting that this was not how the original challenge had gone, that although she had lost the match she had earned the respect of her fellow warriors. Not this, this _beating_.

Terel struck out at her left hand, and as she brought her body around to meet the blow he hit her hard with his free weapon, bruising Teyla's ankles and sending her falling backwards to the ground. She hit the dirt, winded, and before she could move he was astride her, the rough end of his weapon pressing firmly against her throat.

"Enough!"

Her father's voice. She heard his disappointment beneath the command, and when Terel stepped away from her she glimpsed the younger man's arrogant smirk.

There was no strong hand to help her up. Not this time. She lay for several seconds staring up at the sky, unable to catch her breath, struggling to come to terms with the violation of her history.

"This is not how things were."

"Teyla." Her father again. She rolled onto her front, refusing to express the protests her body made, and pushed herself to her feet.

She was the last one to stand. Terel stood in a circle of his adoring friends, young men she had considered her companions. Behind her, Sheppard and the others were hovering hesitantly, and she heard McKay ask 'are you alright?', only to be ignored.

"Teyla."

Her father was taller than she remembered, but his shoulders dipped beneath the heavy weight, and she knew with painful clarity that she was the cause.

And she had to steel herself against the knowledge that this was not her father, that he was not real, and that she had never been the cause of his shame.

"We should take you to your mother."

"No." She tested the inside of her lip gingerly and tasted blood. "I am fine. If there was a rematch…"

"No, Teyla." His dark eyes looked away to Terel. "You lost poorly. Perhaps your mother's sister is right, perhaps you are not suited to the warrior life."

Her aunt, a woman deathly afraid of change, who feared a return of the Wraith behind every council decision. Her father had humored her, but never listened. But this was not her father.

The knowledge did little to hide his disappointing glare, or the insecurity she felt beneath it. "I can do better. Perhaps with more training…"

"Teyla." His voice held a low growl of warning, a note she had never heard him use on her, that she had only glimpsed during the most aggressive council members. "You have had enough training. I do not wish to see my child fail me again."

"No," she protested, "I would not. I…"

"Teyla." Sheppard's voice. She ignored him.

Her father looked at her with pity. "Go home, Teyla. Let your mother bind your wounds." He turned away from her, and she reached out to pull him back.

"Teyla." Sheppard had his hand on her arm. She tried to shrug it off, but he persisted.

"Father, please."

His back stiffened under her touch. "Go home."

Her breath caught in her throat, her chest painfully tight, but she dropped her hand and stepped away. This _was_ her father, recreated from the past, returned to her, and he was _ashamed_ of her…

"Teyla." The grip squeezed her arm firmly.

Turning, she saw Sheppard staring at her with worry and sympathy in his eyes, a look mirrored by Ford and McKay. "That isn't…"

"I know."

Sheppard removed his hand, and she shuddered.

It was an illusion, nothing more. The scorn of Terel, the disappointment from her father, none of it was real.

And yet the shame was almost enough to break her.

"Let's get out of here," McKay said, nervously, looking pointedly away from the circle. A door had appeared on the outskirts of the forest, beside a large, dead tree.

She took a deep breath and nodded, refusing to look back at her father.

Aiden went first, giving her a weak, meaningful smile. McKay followed, lingering for several seconds before stepping through the door. Sheppard remained by her side, his hand hovering inches from her elbow, ready to ground her.

"He would be proud of you, Teyla."

"He was." Part of her wanted to turn, wanted to plead for her father's forgiveness, just to earn a few more precious minutes with his ghost. In her childhood there had been no need, she had never failed him. Even in her weaknesses, he had forgiven her. Both he and her mother had been her small world, and when the Wraith had taken both from her, one culling after the next, she had thought there would be no other.

In her grief, she would have given anything to hear her father's voice once more.

But not this.

"I'm sorry."

She glanced at Sheppard questioningly.

"I decided we should go on with this charade."

"No." Taking a deep breath, Teyla tore herself away from her past and stepped towards the door. "There was no other choice. And this…"

"It wasn't real," he repeated.

"No. My father is not that man."

"Okay." He looked at her uncertainly. "As long as you're sure."

"I am." She placed her hand against the door for a moment, feeling the cold metal under her skin. It felt more real than the fight, than the power of Terel's blows or the depth of shame in her father's voice. She could even feel her bruises fading.

Lifting her head, Teyla offered Sheppard a smile. "Shall we join Lieutenant Ford and Doctor McKay?"

He returned the smile, and pushed open the door. "After you."

* * *

Thank you for all the reviews! Belisse, Madj, Raven,Elisa and Purpleyin, I'm glad you're enjoying it! But here's the bad news. Due to a hectic RL, I won't be able to update this til next Wednesday... but hopefully after that the updates should be more frequent. Sorry!


	10. The Yard

_Author's Notes: Thank you for the reviews! Drufan, Elisa, Obsessedwithscifi, Belisse, Dr Dredd, and inkysmom - thank you! Also, Krysalys - d'oh! Flashlights, not torches. I have enough trouble remembering trash, not rubbish! Please let me know if you spot any others, it's much appreciated :-)_

Chapter Ten - The Yard

Even as a young child, Aiden Ford was wise enough to understand that the very bottom of his grandparent's yard was a dangerous place to be.

They had a long, wide plot of land at the back of their shambling house. More than enough to satisfy the needs of a young boy and his best friend. Aiden and Tom spent most of their free time there, building forts against invaders – usually Aiden's three cousins – fighting pirates, winning Super Leagues, floating paper boats in the stream that ran along the back.

But across the stream lay another patch of land, between the yard and the field beyond. An area overgrown with weeds, where grass towered above young Aiden's head, where nettles and poison ivy grew with wild abandon. There was an abandoned car tire and an empty kerosene barrel, and a warning from his grandparents to never cross the line because it was too far from the house, and they could not be seen.

The two friends would take it as a challenge, daring each other to cross into forbidden territory, usually earning themselves a verbal lashing from Aiden's grandmother and a week without television as a result. As the boys grew older their excursions became less frequent. New interests called them. For Tom, his extra two years drew him to bikes, and girls, and time spent from under the watchful eyes of any adult. For the younger Aiden, it meant exploring the field beyond the yard with his friends, and playing baseball, and weekend jobs.

When Aiden was fourteen, his uncle decided that the time had come, that the jungle, since abandoned by even its most ardent of explorers, was now overdue for a massacre. His father in-law wanted a vegetable plot, a hobby to entertain him past retirement and his grandchildren's increasing independence.

At twenty five years old, Aiden stood in the home of his childhood, looked out across the yard, and saw the jungle with a sense of dread.

His uncle stood amongst the bushes, half hidden by leaves, his broad shoulders slightly bowed. Aiden could hear the sound of a blade hitting wood, of an axe blade against a forest.

He frowned, confused. Something felt odd about the scene, something other than his own advanced age or the presence of his team mates behind him. The breeze was still, but Aiden was certain that in original events, it had been windy. The surrounding area was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual sounds of birds and nearby car engines, and the excited screams of neighborhood children.

"Lieutenant?"

Sheppard stood on the steps of the porch, looking at his second-in-command questioningly.

"It's, ah…" Aiden hesitated, glancing back towards his uncle. He was beginning to feel distinctly sick. "It's my home, sir. My grandparents' house."

McKay had sauntered across to a wooden table and was examining a jug of lemonade with a strangely disgusted expression. "What are we doing here?" he asked, sniffing a glass and grimacing.

Ford turned away from them, back to the methodical sounds of his uncle's axe tearing down the overgrown jungle. "It's, ah…"

There was the distant sound of a plane as it sped, silver and glimmering, across the blue sky. Inside he could hear his grandmother singing to herself as she worked in the kitchen.

"Aiden," Teyla prompted, gently, taking a step towards him.

His uncle's axe had paused, the garden suddenly silent. Ford could see the older man's silhouette amongst the undergrowth, could see him stand still for a long, drawn out moment before crumpling suddenly to the ground.

Instantly Aiden tore across the yard, team mates and mission forgotten. He was vaguely aware of a frightened: "Lieutenant!" from Teyla, but had he wanted to stop, his body wouldn't allow it. Eleven year old Aiden Ford, caught completely up in the memory of his youth, running across the garden, stumbling over his grandmother's precious lilies, crushing white petals into the mud.

She would never replace him. Eventually his grandfather covered the bed with concrete and built a barbeque over it.

He crossed the edge of the garden and started to force his way through the undergrowth, pushing back branches and ripping away handfuls of leaves. The plants grew up around him, seeming taller and denser than they ever had when he was a child, thorns scratching at his bare hands, the ground thick with intertwined roots that grabbed at his feet.

His uncle was on the floor, curled into a fetal position beside the pile of chopped branches. The axe lay a few inches from his outstretched hand. Aiden dropped to his knees beside the man, reaching out with shaking hands to turn his uncle over, knowing he was dead, knowing there was nothing he could do.

A strangled gasp prompted him to leap back a foot, stumbling backwards over a fallen log. His uncle was twitching spasmodically, white faced, neck veins bulging, his mouth open and swollen tongue lolling as he struggled for every breath - dying. Slowly, painfully, and awake, and oh god, it wasn't supposed to be like this, it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Clutched in his grandfather's arms in the hospital waiting room, he'd been promised it was quick. "His heart just gave out." Dead before his nephew had ever reached him.

Not - not gasping pitifully, his eyes rolling around in his head before fixing themselves on Aiden with a keen desperation that ripped at the boy, lips struggling to form around a breath, a word, a plea…

_Help me_.

And eleven year old Aiden, unable to move, frozen to the spot, unable to grasp the lie he was witnessing.

His uncle's gasps started to stutter, disintegrating into strangled wheezes. His chest heaved once, twice, three times before stilling.

His eyes continued to stare at Aiden long after the man's heart stopped beating.

Pushing himself backwards in a desperate, hasty attempt to get away, Aiden stumbled and fell back against the ground. He choked a breath and pressed his arm over his eyes, burying his face into his hands.

"Aiden."

A warm hand touched his shoulder. He ignored it.

"Aiden," Teyla repeated, her voice strained and urgent. "This is not real."

He shuddered, but was able to remove his hands. Teyla crouched beside him, her eyes bright and wide, her face oddly pale. His gaze drifted past her shoulder to the patch of ground behind her, to where the corpse of his uncle lay.

The space was empty.

"Lieutenant."

A shudder rolled through him, but he managed to drag his gaze back to meet Sheppard's. The Major stood stiffly beside Teyla, his jaw clenched tight.

"It wasn't…" Aiden paused, struggling to form words. "It didn't happen like this."

"It's part of the game." McKay stood on the edge of the undergrowth. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, his gaze flitting to cast Aiden a sympathetic look before returning to study the ground.

"It doesn't feel like a game."

"No, well…" The scientist's voice trailed off. "I don't know what this thing is," he admitted, ruefully.

"Nightmares," Sheppard said softly. "Ford, you going to be okay?"

He nodded, grimly, although his body seemed reluctant and sluggish. "Yes sir."

"We should move," Teyla said softly, her hand lingering on Aiden's shoulder before she moved, standing up. He followed, accepting her offered hand to help him up.

"I think this part's over." Sheppard gestured back towards the garden, where a door had materialized in the middle of the lawn. The Major gave a macabre grin. "My turn."

"Major." Ford licked his lips, his throat dry. "You don't have to."

"As much as I'd like there to be an exit, I don't see one." Sheppard turned, moving through the undergrowth towards the door. "Let's just get on with this."

McKay winced, pausing to glance at Ford. "You're, ah… you're alright, Lieutenant?"

"Yeah." Aiden cleared his throat and tried for a more confident answer. "It isn't real, right?"

"Right." The scientist turned, about to follow Sheppard.

Aiden swallowed, and spoke quickly. "Doc?"

McKay glanced at him.

"Sorry. For before."

He received a careless, awkward shrug and an uncomfortable cough in response. "Yes, well, I think it all becomes pretty meaningless in here."

"Meaningless." Glancing back to the empty ground Aiden saw his uncle's axe, still lying where it had fallen. "Yeah. Right."


	11. History of 404

_Author's Notes: DrDredd, I forgot to say - I loved the Magician's Nephew! You're inspiring me to re-read the entire series._

_As for the rest of you... thank you for the feedback! Now, let's take a poll on people's favourite games. Mine was one called 'Chinese Mysteries of Old Peking,' but I think myself and myfriend were the only two people to have ever played. sigh Who's up for some Twister?_

* * *

Chapter Eleven - History of 404

Despite differences across space and culture, on Earth or in Pegasus, certain facts seem universal. One was the smell and style of a hospital corridor. Clean lines and polished floors, the walls painted in a wash of nauseating green, the ceiling a clinical white. A janitor stood at the far end, pushing a gray mop, and an elderly gentlemen in a thick brown sweater dozed on a plastic chair. There was constant background noise, like the distant waves on a beach. Hushed voices and the muffled hum of machines. And there was the smell, of bleach and starch and sickness.

One hospital looked very much like another, so Sheppard figured he could be forgiven for forgetting the name of this one. He assumed it was his memory; even if hadn't, logically, been his turn, there was a deep, itching sensation in his gut, a sense of dread. He'd seen too many hospitals in his past, both as a visitor and as a patient, and this one failed to stick in his mind.

Until he saw the brightly painted emblem decorating a pane of frosted glass set into a door.

His feet stopped so suddenly McKay walked into him.

"What?" The scientist rubbed his elbow, looking aggrieved. "What is it?"

A passing nurse, her hair a premature gray and her eyes a muted blue, scowled at McKay and raised a finger to her lips. The scientist grimaced, but lowered his voice obediently.

"Where are we?"

"Hospital," Sheppard replied, his answer clipped and terse.

"I can see that, Captain Obvious. Where on _Earth_ are we?"

"Seattle." His feet refused to move. There were dark things in his past, things that haunted him on sleepless nights, things he would choose to forget. But not like this. Nothing buried so deep.

He shouldn't remember it, not in this detail, but he did. The pitying, sorrowful looks of the nurses, the patronizing tone of the counselor. The sour smell of illness even after being scrubbed from the floor. Her weakness…

Hell, even the room number. The room two doors down on the left. The room to which he was now being drawn, inexorably, unable to stop himself.

"Major?"

With a painful effort Sheppard wrenched his feet around, tripped, and stumbled into a wall, panting heavily. Ford was looking at him with trepidation, the younger man glancing up the corridor as though trying to imagine what it was his superior feared.

Her pale face, the bruises under her eyes, the bones beneath the skin. The wires and bags and monitors and lies. Him, thirteen years old and wanting to bury himself into her arms and never, ever let go. His father's hand on his shoulder…

Sheppard leapt back a foot at the touch and McKay snatched his hand back.

"Sorry, sorry," the physicist blustered, pinning the offensive hand under his other arm. "Just, ah - are you alright?"

"Yes." He pressed his back against the wall, cold seeping through the thin cloth of his shirt, chilling his shoulders. His father had insisted on him dressing smartly for every visit, because he wanted to keep things as normal as possible - which was a lie, because when had John ever willingly worn a shirt, or his smart black pants.

"Because you don't look so good," McKay pressed.

"I'm fine," he retorted, sharply. Pressing a hand against the wall Sheppard levered himself upright, forcing himself to turn towards his team. His efforts had only partial success, his gaze wandering back to the room.

His attention had not gone unnoticed. "Who is in there?" Teyla asked softly, her voice full of compassion.

He swallowed, his mouth dry. "My mother."

He was aware of Ford's expression softening, of a strange mix of pity and anger flickering across McKay's face.

"This isn't a game. If it were, you'd think this damn computer would pick something more fun."

"Yeah." Sheppard drew a hand across his eyes. "My first football game. My tenth birthday. The first time I went up in a jet. I think this thing's more twisted than that."

McKay shook his head, starting to pace around a small spot on the clean floor. "I don't get it. Why would the Ancients invent something like this? Unless it's a side-effect of the power surges causing corruption in the files but this is so specific and…"

"What is there to know?" Sheppard snapped roughly. "It's screwed up, I get that." He glanced back towards the room, taking one faltering step forwards.

"She died," Teyla said, softly. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It was a long time ago, Lieutenant." And now a damn computer game was denying him the comfortable distance time had brought him.

"How old were you?" Teyla asked.

"Thirteen." He took another step towards the room, his own body betraying him. The sick feeling in his stomach was growing, and his hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm.

McKay stepped into his line of sight, looking pale but determined. "You don't have to play along."

"I'm not." He gritted his teeth together but was unable to stop another step forward. "Unfortunately the rest of me seems to have other ideas."

Rodney wrapped one hand around Sheppard's forearm. "We still seem to have control."

"Lucky you." He tried to pull his gaze away from the door and back to McKay, with little result.

McKay's grip on his arm tightened. "We can stay out here."

"He's right, sir." Ford took up position beside McKay. "Even if we can't exit we don't have to go along with this. We just wait here until Atlantis sends a team to get us out of here."

"Yeah." Sheppard swallowed, his throat like sandpaper. Behind Ford the corridor was shifting, the walls melting and changing shape, the door dragging itself closer. "I'm not sure that's going to work."

Teyla had noticed the same, her eyes wide as she called out a warning. "Lieutenant."

The janitor had disappeared, absorbed into the green of the walls. The door was shimmering as it drew closer, and Sheppard could make out silhouettes; a bed, a chair, a trolley. A large, male figure sat on the chair and in the bed…

"No!"

With a wrench he pulled himself free of McKay's grip, his body screaming at him in protest, as though every part of his body was trying to tear itself apart. The feeling lasted barely a second but it was enough to knock the breath from his chest and he staggered backwards. The hospital corridor disappeared, vanishing behind a sudden bloom of white.

"Dammit!" He scrubbed a hand through his hair and pulled away from his team, desperate for privacy but denied it by the void. Breathless, he pressed his hands to his knees, swallowing bile and trying not to throw up.

An image haunted him, a flash of skeletal hands and a grim, bloody smile, a glimpse snatched just before his jerk out of the game.

Not his mother. Not, he repeated, not his mother. A monster. A nightmare.

"Sir?" Ford sounded at his youngest, uncertain and afraid. "Are you alright?"

He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. "Not really, no, Lieutenant." He had the overwhelming urge to hide under his blanket, as though he were six years old and the bogeyman were out to get him.

"Uh, Major?"

"Not now, McKay."

"Major."

Reluctantly he turned, forcing himself to stand straight. The hologram stood before them, still dressed in the cream robes of before, but now wearing an oddly confused expression on its face.

"Why did you exit?"

Sheppard struggled against the urge to throw a punch, knowing it would be useless and worse, do nothing to alleviate his mood. "Why? You think you can take us down this little nightmare trip down memory lane, twist everything, and then you ask why we might not want to?"

The hologram frowned. "This was your past."

"No," Aiden retorted. "It wasn't like that."

"This is the challenge of the game."

"This isn't a game," Sheppard snapped, his voice rising to a yell. "It's our lives!"

"You have to complete the level…"

"No!"

"Major." McKay was still pale, but there was a determined jut to his chin. The scientist eyed the hologram. "Why did the Ancients create this place?"

The hologram turned and offered him a bright smile. "I do not understand."

"The people who created this game," McKay explained, gesturing violently with his hands. "Why? What was its original purpose?"

"It entertains the players."

"This is not entertainment," Teyla objected.

The hologram tilted its head to one side, "The original statement for the game's purpose?"

"God, it's like trying to talk to a pocket calculator. Yes," McKay repeated patiently, "the original statement."

"It was created as a training program."

Sheppard blinked, his anger dissipating suddenly. "A training program for what?"

"It trained the players against enemy attacks."

"The Wraith?" Ford asked.

"Yes."

McKay snapped his fingers enthusiastically. "I should have known. A training program. Of course! Using virtual reality to help the Ancients learn how to fight the Wraith."

"Like a battle simulation?"

"Exactly."

"But none of the memories shown to us so far involved the Wraith," Teyla said, frowning.

"Worse than that," Ford muttered, softly.

"No." McKay hesitated. "But I'm right, right?"

The guide inclined its head in a nod. "Yes. The computer uses the memories of the players to build an environment in which the enemy can be studied."

"Why use mission reports when you can access the memories of the survivors, huh? It makes sense." Sheppard felt a swell of anger, remembering a flash of bones and skin. "But this wasn't like that."

"No." McKay started to pace, his hands gesticulating wildly. "But when the Ancients decided to hide out here they probably changed the program. Changed its code to keep them occupied whilst in stasis."

"Why would they not simply sleep?" Teyla pressed.

"Sure, that would keep power usage down, but they probably didn't figure they'd be kept in stasis this long." The physicist snorted derisively. "It's entertainment."

"But let me guess," Sheppard said slowly, "something's gone wrong." He clenched his hand into a fist, then uncurled his fingers slowly.

McKay turned to the hologram, his face animated. "There must be some sort of internal diagnostic function. Something to allow a user to fix the game from within."

"You don't think the Ancients would have tried that?" Ford objected.

"Probably, but it doesn't hurt to look."

The guide frowned. "You are a technician?"

Rolling his eyes, McKay nodded. "Yes, yes. Whatever."

Hesitating, the guide gave McKay an appraising look, then raised one arm and swept it across the horizon to his left. There appeared a green wall of light three meters across, stretching from the space beneath their feet to the invisible ceiling above them, where it arced away and disappeared into a point. On the wall scrolled black letters, the language of the Ancients, moving at a speed tracked by McKay's eager eyes.

Sheppard stepped up to the wall cautiously. Placing a hand towards its surface he felt it vibrate minutely, the tremors running up his arm. It was a fraction of a centimeter thick and transparent. When he stepped around the back Sheppard could see the scrolling letters from behind.

"This is the diagnostic?" Teyla asked.

"It's the computer code which created the program, the instructions designed by the Ancients to build this game." McKay took a step closer to the wall, tilting his head back to follow the lines of text up into the ceiling. "Typical Ancient construction however. Incredibly detailed but containing numerous redundancies." He pointed at a long phrase on the left hand side of the wall as it scrolled upwards. "This piece, for example, tells the machine what to do if…"

"McKay," Sheppard growled, walking back around to the front of the wall. "How do we know this is accurate?"

McKay glanced at the hologram. "It's not sophisticated enough to lie to me."

"No offence doc, but are you sure?" Ford eyed the hologram. "What if this AI's gone nuts, isn't that possible?"

"No," the scientist replied, dismissively. "You're ascribing human characteristics to a collection of binary information. Lying would require thought, and this abacus isn't displaying any."

Sheppard found himself glancing at the hologram, but the guide still wore the same fixed expression, staring obliviously through McKay. "So what can you find out?"

"Give me a minute, Major." McKay waved at the hologram. "Show me the interchange between this program and the training simulation."

The text on the wall flickered and briefly disappeared, replaced a second later by a new, fresh set of letters. McKay hummed and hawed his way through it, muttering softly to himself as he read, while Sheppard grew increasingly impatient.

"Oh, no, no. That's not right. And here… what sort of patch job is that supposed to be?"

"McKay," Sheppard interrupted, warningly.

"I've seen high school projects with more sophisticated… oh, wait, that explains that particular hole but what about…"

"McKay!"

With a disgruntled snort the scientist straightened and glared at Sheppard. "Do you honestly expect me to have the answers at my fingertips every time?"

"No." Sheppard flashed him a bitter grin. "Just this time. Get on with it."

The reply was a huff, and a reluctant: "Fine. It looks like this game was built on the basic outline of the battle simulation. But the Ancients must have hidden themselves away in a rush, because the job is patchy and clumsy, and the power shorts haven't helped."

"That would affect the program?" Teyla asked.

"It's like an Earth computer. If the system crashes, or power goes down without warning, then there's a danger of information being lost, of the hard drive being damaged. The more often the system crashes, the more damage the hard drive gets, until the corruption starts to spread even when the rest of the computer is functioning fine. In this case…" He gestured back towards the wall, "corruption is attacking the base code of the program. I'm sure when the Ancients originally booted it up it worked perfectly, and all they got to experience were a few happy Hallmark memories. But it looks like the two sets of instructions started to overlap and contradict each other, and when the system tried to compensate it created this."

"This isn't a battle simulation," Sheppard pointed out.

"No, but it plays by similar rules. It scans our thoughts and recreates our memories, just like the game was intended to, but it then changes events to present a…" He paused, speaking the words distastefully, "a challenge."

There was a small pause.

"So," Ford grimaced, "this is going to get harder."

"The system assesses each player or group in terms of their skill set and provides an environment in which to challenge them," the hologram explained helpfully. "After each completed task the player or group moves on to the next challenge. The increasing difficulty of each task means the player or group must acquire new skill sets…"

"We get it," Sheppard snapped. "But we're not playing, you got that?"

"You must complete the game to exit."

"Enough with the broken record act."

"You must play the game if…"

"No," he interrupted, turning his back on the guide and addressing his team. "We stay here. It won't let us out, then fine, but that doesn't mean we have to play along with it."

"Oh, right." McKay sighed heavily, folding his arms. "Of course, why didn't the Ancients think of that? We'll just wait for Atlantis to rescue us."

Sheppard glared at him. "Unless you want to go back down the rabbit hole?"

"Hardly. But I'm not sure we have a choice." The scientist looked towards the hologram. "Do we?"

"Each player is required to complete the game before exiting," the guide answered. "If a player decides to pause the game the system will reset to default."

"Default?" Teyla glanced between the hologram and McKay. "What does it mean?"

"Oh, I dunno…" McKay gestured out to the white. "That?"

Sheppard following his hand, expecting to see nothing but more void. But there was something, a horizon, a thin dark line that was growing rapidly as it drew closer. The air was darkening, the green wall of information flickering several times before disappearing. A shade of blue started to creep across the ceiling, rough concrete forming under his feet. Taking an instinctive step backwards, Sheppard turned towards the hologram in time to see the guide vanish.

"Major!"

Alarmed, he spun round on his heel and saw Teyla stumble, supported by McKay. Rodney turned a frightened gaze upon him before they both suddenly disappeared, sucked up into the burst of color around them. Details were forming in the horizon, its wall meeting the sky and blending seamlessly into one.

Grass to the left of him, concrete beneath his feet, blue sky overhead and the sound of engine noise.

Sheppard turned, bewildered, desperately looking for Ford.

A firm hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.

"So, Johnny? You ready for this?"


	12. Fast and Furious

Chapter Twelve - Fast and Furious

Tyler grinned at John, slapping the side of the car enthusiastically. His fingers left sweaty imprints on the yellow metal. "You with me, Johnny?"

"Huh?" Sheppard blinked dumbly, and looked down at the car. Silver wheels, a new paint job, and sleek curves hiding an impossibly powerful engine. "Yeah."

"Because you spaced out for a second there."

"Sorry."

Tyler Edwards, older than the seventeen year old Sheppard by three years, although his ID said five. Tall and beefy, with a flush of bleached blonde hair that contrasted sharply with his oddly pink skin. Sheppard's father disapproved of the boy, and had banned his son from seeing him - which was exactly the reason why John found himself at the freeway.

He didn't even like Tyler. The boy was obnoxious, rude, arrogant, and stupid. He'd gained his college place through his one talent, football, and upon graduation would be appointed into an overpaid managerial position with his father's firm, paid for demeaning everyone beneath him. He was dead before he was thirty, killed in a speed boat accident whilst holidaying in Miami.

Tyler grinned, slapped the roof of the car a second time, and then dropped smoothly into the driver's seat.

The freeway was empty. It had been completed a week previously, but it was another two before its grand opening. The smooth, unmarked concrete stretched out before John, bordered on either side by a slope of fresh green turf, hiding the track from the view of any passing cop car. Security was non-existent, but even driving through the plastic fencing gave Sheppard a small thrill.

"Johnny."

Eric McGinley, Sheppard's best friend at the time, if John could have called what they had friendship. Eric was the same age as John, and with the same reckless desire for excitement. They hung out together, the two of them amidst a group of the same, meeting up to compare cars or to try and sneak into clubs.

Tyler, as the oldest, was the leader, but there was tension between him and Sheppard. John had grown into his height, and wore his body with new confidence, impressing girls easily with his boyish smile and teasing flirtation. Tyler relied on his money, and resented the younger boy's careless attraction to the fairer sex.

John knew this, but it hadn't stopped him from pushing his luck. It was at one of the clubs, loitering by a table with the girl Tyler had been watching all night, that he'd stepped over the line. The group had been looking to him, laughing at his jokes, listening to his exaggerated tales of conquests, and for a brief moment, he had stolen Tyler's place.

In a way, he'd been relieved at the challenge. John wasn't stupid; in an all-out fight, he'd have been the loser, crushed by Tyler's weight and strength. But speed - that, he excelled at.

The car, a sleek, beautiful red, was the end result of months of part time work, and the sacrifice of his grades. Sheppard had earned every cent himself when his father, agreeing to the purchase, had shown him a catalogue of family friendly, safe vehicles.

"You getting in or what?"

Eric was in the passenger side of John's car, a grin on his face. He slapped the driver's seat and waited impatiently as a dazed Sheppard got in.

"Tyler's such an idiot. Like he can beat you on the road."

"Yeah." Sheppard tried to look casual as he glanced behind him to the empty back seat, then turned to peer through the low windscreen.

"You looking for someone?"

There was a small gaggle of people stood on the verge beside the road. He recognized most of them, and could remember the names of half; old friends and faces he had forgotten. They looked towards the two cars eagerly, several of the boys shouting insults and dares.

Sheppard had no chance to wonder where his teammates were. Eric tossed him the car keys. Caught by surprise, John fumbled the catch and they fell into his lap.

"Nervous, Johnny?"

"Me?" his younger self replied cockily. "Never."

And it was all too easy to fall into familiar patterns. The over confident, stubborn, arrogant Johnny Sheppard, desperate to prove himself. Tatty jeans and scuffed leather jacket, messy, dark hair threatening to fall over his eyes.

He brushed back an errant strand with one hair. When a younger John had threatened to shave it close, his mother had run her fingers through it, and told him she liked it long. Then she'd died, and he'd kept the length, a concession to her memory.

His father hated it, of course. Told him that if he wanted to join the military, he needed to lose the vanity. It was simpler for his father to blame invented failures than to acknowledge his son's grief, or his own.

Unable to stop himself, John's hand lifted the keys to the ignition and turned. The engine roared to life eagerly, more enthusiastic about the race than its driver. Eric howled in pleasure, leaning out of the passenger window and hollering to the girls standing on the verge: "You take a good look, ladies!"

Two of them blew exaggerated, stage school kisses towards the car, then turned to each other and giggled. Eric grinned appreciatively before turning back to John, nodding at the audience.

"I think they like us."

"Me," the younger Sheppard corrected. "They like me, Eric. Don't delude yourself."

"Hey, you and Tyler aren't the only studs."

"Please, McGinley. Control yourself. Remember who's driving." John depressed the accelerator with one foot by a fraction, and felt the car hum beneath him.

In the opposite lane, Tyler had his car purring, and was now leaning out of his window soaking up some love from an adoring blonde. Seeing Sheppard was ready, he slapped the girl across the back of her short skirt and pulled back into position, both hands on the wheel.

Without moving his body, he turned his head and eyed John. "You ready, Johnny?"

There was a threat beneath the false warmth, a coldness and malice that was not missed by either John or Eric. Temporarily lost for words, Sheppard was saved by a growl from Eric.

"Let's make this a good game, Edwards."

The words cut through the memory sharply. As though waking suddenly from a deep sleep, Sheppard started, his body tensing and his eyes looking forward past the windscreen to the crowd. He still couldn't see the others, but at the far end of the track he could make out the distant silhouettes of more onlookers, those who had chosen to wait out at the finishing line.

He thought back to how this had ended. Tyler had cheated, but so had he, using sneaky quick turns and slides to the left in an attempt to force the other boy to swerve, or slow down. The cordoned off road was less than two miles long, but an unfinished intersection at either end created a loop around which the boys had to make five passes. It was on the fifth and final pass that Tyler would make his mistake. Attempting a tricky maneuver that involved a sudden, sharp turn of the wheels into the other lane whilst on the intersection, his car would skid on an unexpectedly slippery patch of tarmac and slide into the side of Sheppard's. With both vehicles separated from the road, John remembered a brief period of dizzying colors and the squealing of tires before a sharp, sudden jolt had thrown him forward in his seat, leaving bruises across his chest that would not fade for weeks. The soft grass of the verge had saved both boys from serious injury, but not John from a tense stand-off with his father.

"Hey, you want him to gain the lead or what?"

Sheppard blinked, turning his attention back to the present. Despite his consciousness vacationing, his body had apparently acted of its own will, responding to the scream of 'Go!' from Mark Dealer, stood on the sidelines. The two cars were rattling along the freeway at increasing speed, Tyler effortlessly taking the lead. Sheppard could feel the thrum of the engine, the vibrations moving through the steering wheel clutched in his hands, up through his arms to reverberate around his chest. Unbidden, his foot pressed harder on the accelerator, his hand moving the gears obediently.

Eric whooped, leaning out of the window to feel the rushing wind. "This is more like it! Get the speed up, man. If he wins we'll never live it down."

The crash had totaled one side of John's beautiful car, making it impossible to hide the incident from his father. After returning home, two stern looking cops in tow, Sheppard had prepared himself for arguments, another yelling match. He had been left to wait in the front room whilst his father took the officers into the kitchen. He had pressed himself to the door to hear and had only caught snatches of soft voices. Twenty minutes later his father said goodbye to the cops, then turned from the front door to his son.

"_Do you want some dinner?"_

John had blinked stupidly at his father, astonished by the question. _"Dad?"_

"_I imagine you're hungry. There's some chicken salad in the fridge and the remains of the casserole from Wednesday. I'm going to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow."_ And then his father had moved away, to the staircase, leaving his confused son stood in the hallway.

Sheppard could still remember the sadness in his father's eyes, and the sense of incredible shame and guilt.

"Come on, Johnny! We're almost level. Let's open her up, see what she can really do!"

The car engine revved noisily, drowning out the rest of Eric's delight. Sheppard could see Tyler's car only meters away, and to their left, and he forced his own vehicle to go faster, to pull up alongside the older boy. He could see Tyler in the driver's seat, glancing towards his opponent quickly, and he glimpsed worry, and anger.

After the crash Sheppard had quietly sold the car to a nearby auto repair shop, for half the money he had originally paid for it less the amount needed to fix the damage. He had bought a second hand, gas friendly replacement that he hated. He returned to college, improved his grades, and spent another year living with the silent specter of his father before moving out into a place of his own.

Both cars had smoothly navigated the first turn, although Tyler's larger, bulkier vehicle had lost its speed at the intersection and now Sheppard was pulling into the front. The thrill of the memory was beginning to affect him; nothing could beat the adrenaline rush of an F16 at full throttle, or the unexpected grace of a puddle jumper, but for pure, raw power, a car chase appealed to the teenage John he had buried for so long. The vehicle roared under his touch, the wheels obeying every wrench of his hands, gas burning away and leaving streaks on the new tarmac. Eric's enthusiasm was infectious; John grinned, leaning forward in his seat as though willing the car to go faster, to increase those precious few inches between himself and Tyler. Not to just win, but to beat him, to taste satisfied glory.

He was already at the second intersection, pulling the wheel to the far right to drag the tires into a sharp turn, the effort tearing at the muscles in his arms. It was then that he made his mistake. At such a speed even John's nimbler vehicle couldn't cope with the turn, failing to follow the road and instead heading for the opposite embankment. Desperately John yanked the steering wheel further around to the right, struggling to pull the car back into the turn but despite his efforts the tires slipped on an unexpected oily patch of tarmac and skidded. Having lost control of the car all Sheppard could do was watch the side of Tyler's car speed closer until…

In the brief second before the crunch, Sheppard heard somebody scream. He thought it sounded like Ford.

The front of the car clipped the side of Tyler's, sending the other boy careening into the verge. The vehicle seemed to groan, the force and angle of the collision sending the car into a roll, landing roof first onto the ground with an ear-splitting peal of thunder. Sheppard felt every bone in his body rattle, pain bursting across his chest from where the belt strapped him into his seat, his head jolted so hard he heard his neck crack. The car juddered as velocity dragged it across the tarmac, slowing, then finally stopping, bumping into the low metal barrier of the road.

For several moments the only sound was Sheppard's own heavy panting.

He seemed miraculously uninjured, aside from some aches from his abused ribs. He flexed his fingers experimentally, then his toes, satisfying himself that he was unharmed, then tried to peer through the front window. The windscreen had cracked through the force of the car's landing, and Sheppard could see the ground above him, and the brilliant blue sky below.

"Sir."

The voice beside him was croaky, its owner breathing with harsh, stuttered gasps. Carefully Sheppard turned his head to look towards Eric…

To find Ford sat in his place.

The young lieutenant was ashen, suspended upside down in the car by the seat belt still secured around his chest. He was wearing the thin t-shirt and jeans Eric had been sporting a few moments earlier, and Sheppard could see an odd, sharp bump of ribs through the thin cloth. Aiden was struggling to catch his breath, and as he uttered another soft, gurgling: "Major," Sheppard glimpsed blood staining his teeth.

"Oh crap." John fumbled at his own belt, desperation causing his fingers to fumble. "Lieutenant, stay still, okay? I'm gonna get us both out of here."

"You…." Ford closed his eyes tightly, his face taut with pain. "You crashed."

Sheppard hesitated, his breath catching over the accusation in Aiden's voice. "It was an accident."

"No." The younger man dragged another, strangled gasp of air into his lungs, blood tricking into his hair. "You… screwed up." Another gasp, and then he added unnervingly: "Sir."

"No." Sheppard tugged hard on the seatbelt catch but the force of the impact seemed to have jammed the metal. "This wasn't how this went! Eric didn't…" He stumbled over the words, clamped his mouth over the unspoken 'die' and corrected: "he wasn't badly hurt."

"Major…"

"It was a couple of scratches, a dent in the car!" He was yelling now, fear and frustration fuelling his rage, ripping at the seatbelt futilely and shouting at the game around him. "He walked away from it, we both did, you hear me?"

"Your fault." Aiden coughed, broken ribs pressing against his t-shirt. "He was right."

Sheppard didn't ask who, didn't need to. Temporarily giving up with the belt he tried pushing himself over to the open window, screaming for help across the tarmac. But he couldn't see the crowd, he couldn't see Tyler's car in the verge, he could only see the blue sky and hear the dying breaths of his second, of…

"I thought…" Aiden paused, swallowing convulsively, his lips stained red.

"No," John told him, ordered him, his hands once more struggling with his seatbelt. "Just hold on, Lieutenant."

"I thought…" and Ford turned a terrible, accusing look on Sheppard, "you would… get us home."

For the briefest of seconds, Sheppard froze.

The catch suddenly gave way beneath his fingers, releasing him from the seat. Sheppard dropped suddenly, hitting his head hard against the ceiling. Darkness claimed him.


	13. Secret Track

Chapter Thirteen - Secret Track

"Hello?"

A perfectly manicured lawn bordered by roses provided a picturesque front to the house. A wide pebbled driveway, home to two cars and a girl's bike, curved up from the suburban street to the door - a dark, wooden affair, set with a cheerily fake pane of colored glass. It pushed aside easily beneath McKay's hand, allowing light to fall on polished floor boards and pale cream walls. Several paintings hung on the walls; a rocky landscape, a vase, a hunting party. Between them, at a slight angle, hung an aging family photo. A stiff-backed, middle-aged man in a suit, a woman with shoulder pads and an expensive perm, a teenage girl with a familiar, defiant jut to her chin and a ten year old boy, pudgy and sickly looking. All four stared out from the photo with expressionless eyes, oblivious to being an object of study.

For the first time in almost twenty years, Rodney McKay was home.

He paused before moving off the door mat, looking from his boots to the shoe rack purposefully placed in the space to his left. Habit had him bent down, fingers on his laces before he realized what he was doing and stopped.

Straightening, McKay looked around the empty hallway and ventured, reluctantly: "Mom?"

There was no reply, much to his intense relief. Trying a different tack, he called: "Major? Lieutenant Ford? Teyla?"

Then, desperate: "Jeannie?"

Nothing. He hadn't expected one to the latter; his sister had left home six years before he had, and as far as he was aware had not been back since. But he expected his teammates to answer.

"Huh." He tried the front door, hoping to exit but finding it locked. "So much for group playing."

The hallway opened out into an open plan living room and kitchen area. The sofa was cream, matching the walls, and a completely unsuitable color for a young boy and his variety of science experiments.

Sometimes Rodney had thought his mother had deliberately designed the house to ensnare him. It wasn't his fault that in his attempt to build a bottle rocket, he had accidentally destroyed an entire shelf of her beloved glass animals; it was his mother's for deciding the den was a suitable place to display them. And if she hadn't wanted him to use the den, then she shouldn't have banned him from the kitchen.

Eventually, in a fit of frustration, she had sent him down to the basement armed with a broom and the promise that if he cleaned it up, and ensured all his experiments stayed in the one room, he was free to do whatever he liked down there. She could close the door on him, and the sounds of her protégé son building his first nuclear bomb could be hidden from her judgmental, supercilious friends.

During the end of his parent's relationship, during the worst of their fights, Rodney would hide down there. He could shut the door so the sounds of their voices were muffled, and bury himself in an experiment, and pretend to himself that it didn't matter, that it didn't hurt.

The kitchen was empty, but a kettle stood on the countertop and was coming to a boil, whistling brightly. McKay approached it cautiously, wincing when it automatically flicked off. He looked out across the sink to the kitchen window and beyond, to a deserted garden. The charred remains of something that had once been a tree house clung to an overgrown oak, and he could make out the form of a small black cat making good use of his mother's rock garden.

He had always liked cats.

A sudden thumping sound from the upstairs caused him to jump. Turning, Rodney left the kitchen behind and headed back through the living room to the stairs.

"Mom?"

No reply. He paused nervously at the foot of the stairs, one hand clutching the banisters tightly. The house was silent, eerily so, and McKay couldn't repress a convulsive shudder as he started to climb the stairs.

"Oh, this is so not fun. Damn Ancients. Supposed to be all knowing and all powerful and yet they can't even program a damn computer game…"

Another loud thump uttered from somewhere to his left, prompting McKay to yelp and freeze halfway up the staircase. After a long pause he managed to force his body up the remaining steps, though his heart was thundering in his chest and he could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat.

The stairs led to a wide landing and several doors. To his right lay his and Jeannie's rooms. His was shut, and plastered over with a sharp 'keep out' sign, but his sister's was open and he glimpsed a flash of pink walls and fluffy cushions. Straight ahead was the guest room, and to the left lay the bathroom and his parent's room.

It was from this room that there issued another, dull thump. McKay approached it slowly, drawing his gun from its holster, and wishing desperately that one of his teammates was with him.

Cautiously, and with a slight tremble, his free hand reached out and pushed down the door handle. His mind rebelled, demanding his body had better damn well listen to reason and stop this right now, because it was quite clearly insane to be walking in the direction of the thumping, and he had seen enough horror movies to know that this approach never ended well.

His body refused to obey. The door creaked ominously on its hinges as it swung open.

The curtains were drawn; McKay's first clue that something was wrong. Facing the front street, his parent's room was gifted with natural light for most of the day, making it a pleasant, if a little stuffy, environment. The bed was pushed close to the outside wall and separated only by a small bedside cabinet, allowing his mother a perfect position to survey the neighborhood without having to get up in the morning. A large wardrobe stood on the nearest wall, housing racks of his mother's overpriced designer clothes and his father's expensively tailored suits. Numerous cosmetic products covered the surface of a small dresser, several bottles of perfume and shampoo hiding a single photo frame containing the only shot of his parent's wedding that Rodney had ever seen.

A full length mirror hung on the wall beside the dresser, and gave McKay a view of the woman sat on the floor, leaning up against the opposite side of the bed. She was staring up at the curtains, and didn't move as McKay entered.

"Jeannie?"

Her dark hair was streaked with white, and as McKay moved around the bed he caught a glimpse of pale, papery skin. "You've changed."

"Oka..ay." He paused uncertainly. "How are you?"

"You really want to get out there."

"Um…" He frowned, and took another step towards the bed. "It's been a while. I meant to write to you…"

"I'm impressed." Her voice was rougher than he remembered, weaker, but her words touched something within him, something dark.

Slowly McKay stepped around the corner of the bed, getting his first proper look at his sister.

She was aged, hideously. Jeannie was seven years older than him, a rebellious eighteen year old when he had last seen her in the flesh, and in her early thirties in the last photo. He had, in the brief pauses between his work, thought of how the ten years might have changed her. Whether she had followed their mother, and hidden behind make-up and hair dye, or whether she had given in gracefully, like their great aunt, plump and healthy with warm eyes behind the wrinkles.

But not like this. Not even in nightmares.

Skeletal thin, skin mere tissue, hanging from her bones in swathes of gray, translucent cloth. Her white hair hung around her face, hiding her eyes. Her slender legs were drawn up to her rib cage, long hands resting limply in her lap. She coughed, and McKay could hear the breath rattle.

There was a bloody handprint on her chest.

"You want in the fight."

"What?" He shook his head, confused, dropping to his knees beside her. "Look, Jeannie… it'll be alright. Oh god… it'll be alright."

"No." She laughed, bitterly, a twisted hiss of air between her lips. "Rodney, it's okay."

He shivered involuntarily, forcing himself to reach out and take one of her fragile hands in his, cradling it gently. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never replied to your letters, I know I forgot Christmas cards, but I…"

She curled one finger around his thumb and squeezed weakly. "You and I both know I'm not going to make it."

"Stop it." His mouth was dry, his brain acting on autopilot. "You're getting stronger by the minute."

And then it hit him.

"I'm dying, Rodney. I can feel it."

Gaul. He tried to recoil, to escape the false shadow of his sister but his body refused, frozen to the spot on the carpet beside her. Sun trickled into the room through a gap in the curtains, and failed to warm the air.

"Stop it." He swallowed hard, feeling his sister's thready pulse beneath his fingers. "

"I'm not getting better. I'm getting worse."

"No." He closed his eyes briefly, willing the vision to be over, praying that when he opened them she'd be gone, that he could jerk back out of the game and return to the safe white.

His sister was silent.

Panicking, Rodney opened his eyes, tugging on her hand firmly. She uttered a soft gasp and stirred, resisting his touch, the movement grounding him.

"Oh, thank god. I thought…"

Slowly she lifted her face towards him, the white hair falling away to reveal white, milky eyes.

His voice broke on a whisper: "Jeannie…"

Blindly she reached out to him with her free hand, her entire arm trembling with the effort. He caught her fingers and encased her hand in his, moving closer. She was icy cold, her breath stuttering in her chest.

"Go, Rodney."

"No."

"You want to."

"No," he repeated, desperately, massaging her hands with his fingers, just as he'd done for Gaul, just as he'd done so Brendan could lift the…

There was a sound from somewhere outside the room, coming from the outer hallway. A voice that sounded a lot like Teyla. McKay froze, listening intently, Jeannie cocking her head to search out the sound.

"You hear that?" he asked her, nervously.

She shook her head. "No."

"I thought I heard something. Maybe…"

"No."

He turned back to his sister, still absently rubbing her hands with his fingers. "Can you move?"

She gave another laugh, and despite the frailty of her voice it still sounded like _her_, the laughter he had heard from behind a door when she'd been in her room with friends, the laughter they'd shared on the rare movie nights, sat before a film by their absentee mother. "I'm not going anywhere."

McKay paused, torn, glancing between Jeannie and the bedroom door. She pushed at him feebly with her hands, pressing against his chest.

"Go, Rodney. Save the day."

He dropped her hands gently, glancing back at the door before finally, slowly getting to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. The sound from outside seemed louder, clearly Teyla, and although he couldn't make out any words she sounded frightened.

Teyla was never scared.

"If I had a radio…" His hand rose to pat his blank cheek. "No, of course not. But it's okay - if Teyla's there, then maybe Sheppard and Ford are too, and we can figure out a way of getting out of here. We can get you to Carson. Although…" He paused, filled with self-doubt. "If there's a Wraith, what chance do we have? If Teyla can't fight it then how can I?" He took a faltering step towards the door, his hand slipping down to grasp at his gun holster. "I was hoping to be strong enough but I…"

The sound of a gun reverberated around the small room, muffled by fabrics. It was followed by a soft, strangled moan.

"Oh… god."

Slowly he turned, his hand still twitching at the empty holster. His gun, _his_ gun, his sister, Jeannie… Blood on his parent's duvet, pooling on the pristine carpet, blank, lifeless eyes…

There was a twitch in the curtains. McKay turned quickly, ripping his gaze away from the bed, breath caught in his throat, turning in time to see the curtains pull apart and brilliant white light spill in through the window, blinding him…


	14. Home

Chapter Fourteen - Home

Aiden had spent most of his childhood in a street where the houses were all as old as the families raised in them. His grandmother's house played home to three generations of Fords and it wasn't the only one in the block to do so.

On the corner stood Mrs Cooper's; a low roofed bungalow with a sweeping porch overgrown with ivy and creeping roses. She would sit on its steps and watch the rest of the neighborhood go by, dragging on a thin, dark brown cigarette, her fingers stained yellow. Hers was always the last house Aiden and Josh visited during Halloween, the younger boy's hand clutched in the firm hold of his cousin's. The elderly lady treated all children visiting her home as royalty, replacements for her own, grown up offspring who had left the nest years earlier and only grudgingly reappeared at Christmas. She would gift the two boys with more candy than they could carry, and ignoring their grandmother's warnings they would take the entire horde home to bed, and gorge themselves sick on it.

When Aiden was older he performed various small gardening duties for the old lady, trimming her hedges, cutting her lawn, and emptying her gutter. But it had been two years since he had last seen Mrs Cooper, and it seemed no one had taken over his chores. The porch was empty, overgrown with bramble that spilt up and over the front fence from the border. The lawn was wild and untamed, knee-high in places and riddled with moss in others. Paint was slowly peeling from the front door, baked and cracking in the summer heat.

Frowning, Aiden moved onwards down the street, making a mental note to ask his grandmother what had become of the warm, elderly lady.

Beside Mrs Cooper lived the Stuarts. Their eldest son, Nathan, had been in the same class as Aiden and before he had followed in his father's footsteps, training to become a doctor, Nathan had been good friends with Aiden. There was still a dint in the Stuart's lawn where the enthusiastic pitcher, Nathan, had ground his feet theatrically into the dirt. There were still burn marks on the white trunk of the ash tree, where the boys had pinned a Catherine Wheel several July the 4ths earlier. Mr. Stuart was known for throwing a huge barbeque every year, inviting family, friends, and neighbors, and if Ford concentrated he could still taste Mrs Stuart's baked corn on the cob, dripping with butter.

The house now stood empty. The front window was smashed and the door hung in splinters. Sat on the driveway, the large family car was covered by a layer of mulch, its paint faded, its metal rusting. Walking past the property Aiden considered a closer look, but his feet had other intentions.

Past Mr. Davenport's house, its windows and doors boarded up, its high fence battered and broken. The man had seemingly despised everybody, resentful of the fact that he was being forced to share a street with other people. People with children, and dogs, and lawnmowers. No ball or Frisbee had ever returned from the man's garden and Aiden had serious worries for his cousin Marissa's rabbit, who had disappeared under a hole in the fence and had never been seen again.

Then the Connors, another family with two daughters, one of whom Aiden had dated for several months in high school… then Mr. and Mrs Chase, an older couple with a grown up daughter…then Aiden was running, past the empty and abandoned houses, past the broken windows and peeling paint to…

Home.

Compared to other houses on the block it seemed relatively untouched. If it hadn't been for the door, left open and creaking in the wind, or the odd, dark mark marring the neat brickwork, Aiden could almost delude himself into thinking everything was normal.

It was not the same inside. A trail of clothes was strewn from the top of the stairs downwards to the hallway below, and an open suitcase lay at Aiden's feet. He recognized several t-shirts as belonging to Josh, and a skirt that had been Meredith's. Several family photos had fallen from the wall and now glass shards littered the carpet. He walked across them carefully, treading slivers into the rug, and stepped into the living room.

The place was a disaster. A bookshelf had been tipped over, its contents scattered across the floor. The glass coffee table, his grandmother's pride and joy, was shattered, what looked like blood pooling around some of the pieces. The curtains had been torn from the rails, and there were holes in the plaster of the walls. A crate sat on the sofa, filled with canned food and cereal.

Increasingly afraid, Aiden moved back out into the hallway and into the opposite room, the den. Here the furniture had been pushed back to the walls to create space on the floor. His family seemed to be in the middle of packing, boxes of food and suitcases piled unevenly against the couch.

His grandfather's car keys sat on the desk, beneath the green table lamp that had been an anniversary present from his aunt and uncle. Aiden stared at them, shivering, fighting to quell a tide of fear and panic.

He failed. Turning sharply, he left the den behind, pounding up the stairs, treading on his cousin's clothes. "Grandma? Meredith?"

Into his grandparent's bedroom, where the sheets had been torn from the bed, the mattress stripped and bare. "Grandpa?"

Out and into the room shared by Meredith and Marissa, where the wardrobe lay open and bare, hangers scattered across the floor. A bottle of shampoo had been knocked from a table and now lay in a pool of congealing goop.

His heart hammering in his chest, Aiden pushed himself off the door frame and headed past his aunt's room – in disarray – past the bathroom, where the medicine cabinet hung awkwardly from the wall, its contents in the sink – to the room he shared with Josh. Basketball posters covered one wall of the room, and the calendar of girls his grandmother had vehemently disapproved of still hung on the back of the door. A backpack lay on the bed, neatly strapped up and overfull.

"Josh?"

There was a quaver to his voice. Dragging his gaze away from the empty room, Aiden turned back to the landing and surveyed the rest of the house.

It was quiet. His home was never quiet, too full of people, of laugher and arguments and family, not pulled apart, destroyed in the midst of a desperate flight.

There was a large, circular scorch mark on the wallpaper above the stairs. Aiden stared at it for several long seconds, recognition igniting a creeping sense of dread.

A sound from outside pulled him back into the bedroom, to the window that overlooked the street. A repetitive drumming, growing in volume, the sound of armored feet against the tarmac. A dozen Jaffa marched in perfect formation down the road, staff weapons in their hands. Their leader, dressed in the strange, animal shaped helmet Aiden had only seen twice before, strode before them. His head moved to the left and right as though looking for something.

Or someone. Aiden froze, his fingers still curled around the curtain.

His last thoughts were ones of realization, of horror and despair.

_Oh god, they're dead, they're all…_

The leading Jaffa looked up to Aiden's window, his red eyes meeting the human's gaze, any expression hidden behind the mask.

Aiden couldn't move, his body in a state of shock, his mind bound into a crazed denial, _no, no, it's not possible, it's not been that long, why did I…_

He had known the threat to the Milky Way, but left the mission to defend Earth in favor of new frontiers. Leaving his family to be protected by others, that protection failing, his family enslaved or dead…

Casually the Jaffa warrior lifted his staff weapon, aiming it towards the window. In the few seconds before the trigger was pulled, Aiden thought he heard the voice of his grandmother, of the promise she had gently pressed from him.

Come home safe, Aiden.

Then a pulse of hot weapons fire took out the window, and Aiden heard nothing else for a long while.

* * *

_A/N: This may be the last update until Friday, as I'm going on my hols for a few days. Sorry folks!_


	15. Catch That Rabbit

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews, Krys, Belisse, Nenya, Saint Jymmy, Madj...and everyone else, you're all great!_

* * *

Chapter Fifteen - Catch That Rabbit

Screams.

She could still hear them, alone in her room in Atlantis, above the sound of the ocean, the wind outside, distant voices in the corridor. The cries of her people, her family, men and women she had shared her young life with, children she played with.

She knew every name, knew every face. Knew their blood, as her ancestors had known.

And now she cowered in a ditch at the side of a field with the flames of her village lighting the night sky, and heard whispers of the dead calling to her.

There was the memory of fighting, of resisting, of turning to face the figures in white. But it was a dream, a hope, and she should have known not to hold any. She hid in the shadows in fear, a child, alone.

A dart shot overhead, the air pressure forcing her back against the ditch wall, into the mud. Its cry rang out across the valley, a brilliant, shimmering beam sweeping across the earth, claiming lives with pause, without prejudice. The old, and the infirm, the ones who could not run, and the ones who had stayed behind to try and protect them.

Everyone was dead, and she walked with ghosts.

She heard footsteps. Shadows were running towards her, hidden figures towering above her, and she shivered and pressed into the mud in the hope that it would swallow her whole. That it might entomb her, protect her from those ready to take her soul. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, so hard the muscles ached, her teeth clamped together, her eyes closed tight. Her breath caught in her chest and her heart hammered against her ribs as she felt pale hands reach out to her and she wanted to howl –

"Teyla."

She jerked away violently, lashing out blindly with one arm and catching something warm and soft with her fist. Something that yelped, and uttered an unfamiliar word.

"Jesus! Oh, Christ, Teyla…"

"Teyla." Another voice, and warm breath before her. She opened her eyes a crack and saw feet, and legs, and dark skin reaching out to hers. Familiar eyes and a weak, but well meaning smile.

"Aiden." She took his proffered hand but made no attempt to rise, looking to where Sheppard stood, almost doubled over, his face bright red. She frowned, confused, then realized with shame why he moaned. "Major Sheppard –"

One hand waved at her, whilst the other gripped Doctor McKay's shoulder tightly. "I'm fine," came back a mumble, "just, ah, scratch the kids, okay?"

Aiden pulled her to her feet, but continued to hold her hand for a moment longer than was necessary, squeezing gently. He leaned forward on his toes to glance over the top of the ditch, then ducked back. "Wraith."

She found her voice, though it was dry and scratched. "It is the village I spent my childhood in. The day…" And then she paused, unable to voice her fears, and changed tack. "Where did you come from?"

"Hell," McKay muttered. His face was pale in the dim light of the moon, his thoughts clearly far from the ditch in which they hid. One of his hands patted Sheppard's shoulder in a subconscious effort of comfort.

"Home," Aiden said, his voice uneven. "Least I think so. I was back on Earth and…" He paused, looking away to the muddy floor. Teyla pressed her free hand over his, encasing his fingers, feeling him tremble under her touch.

"It was not Earth. Just as this…" She looked up as another dart raged through the night sky, "this is not Athos."

"It felt like it." He took a shaky breath, and she could feel his efforts to reclaim his strength. "There were Jaffa there, and one of them shot me. Everything went white and then I woke up here."

"The same happened to me," McKay offered. "Not the, ah, the Jaffa bit. But I was… somewhere else." His face was pinched tight, struggling not to betray any emotion. "There was a flash of light and then I woke up under the trees over there, next to Lieutenant Ford."

"So you weren't in the car crash." Sheppard had managed to uncurl his body a fraction, though his face was still a lurid red and his voice was tight with pain. He looked at Ford – no, Teyla realized, the Major was drinking in the sight of the younger man, looking over every inch keenly. "You weren't injured."

"Car crash?" Aiden shook his head. "No, sir. And I'm fine. Just… I'd quite like for this to be over, now."

"Yes, well…" McKay cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I'm not sure that's going to happen any time soon."

Sheppard pushed himself away from the scientist's support and leant his hips against the ditch wall, his hands on his knees. "You're always the purveyor of doom and gloom, Rodney."

"Someone has to be."

"Go on," Teyla encouraged him, anxious for something to take her mind off the screams still emanating from her village. Her body twitched, anxious to move, and she had to struggle to maintain control.

"These flashbacks, for want of a better word, they're only lasting a few minutes at a time. I figure we can only have been in the game a period of an hour, maybe less, which means there's still a good long period of playing time until Elizabeth decides to send a rescue party."

Sheppard was already shaking his head. "We are not going through any more of this."

"We clearly have little choice. We can't leave the game of our own will. We can't refuse to play, because the machine can control everything we see and hear. And…" the scientist's hands twitched nervously. "I'm not sure we can wait for a rescue team."

"No argument here, doc," Aiden said, glancing over the side of the ditch to the village. "I don't want to keep doing this."

"And this is such a picnic for me." McKay sighed, heavily. "That's not what I meant, Lieutenant. The power distribution in the outpost was already uneven. Understandable, really, since it's been operating for ten thousand years or more without maintenance. Our arrival disrupted the fine balance the computer created."

"Which we already know," Sheppard said, impatiently. "That's why the stasis chamber failed."

One finger wagged at Sheppard. "Not necessarily. I've been thinking about the AI that controls this place, and I have to figure that it's not contained to the game system." The scientist furrowed his brow, his voice strengthening as he became consumed by his thoughts. "To control both the stasis chambers and the room we found, it must be tied into the outpost's systems as a whole, able to control the power, life support, etc. Given that's almost certainly the case, it seems likely that the reason the chamber before failed isn't because the system overloaded, it's because the computer _actively chose to cut power to that area._"

"So what?" Ford asked. "You're telling us the computer went nuts?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a computer, it can only do what it's programmed to do."

"I do not believe the Ancients programmed their machine to do this," Teyla said, pointedly.

The scientist scrunched his face up into a frown. "No." He glanced at Sheppard. "You ever read _I Robot_?"

Sheppard shrugged. "I heard they were making a movie."

McKay gave another eye roll. "Heathen. If you'd bothered to look up from your football game, you'd know about the three laws of robotics. Asimov used various stories to explore the ways a computer could act in accordance with the laws but that looked like it was contradicting them. He…"

The sound of a cry, twisted beyond any human origin, rang out through the night air and curtailed the physicist's explanation. McKay paled, turning his gaze away from Teyla.

The Major flinched, looking briefly up to the sky before turning back to McKay and uttering an exaggerated grown. "McKay, if there's a point, would you mind getting to it?"

Teyla cut in, desperate to ignore the sounds of the culling, and the twitching of her muscles in fear. "Perhaps you might tell us what these three laws are."

"Fine." He held up one hand and lifted one finger. It trembled slightly in the moonlight. "Firstly, a robot cannot injure a human or allow harm to come to a human, Second," and he ticked off another finger, and swallowed the quaver in his throat, "a robot must obey an order given to it by a human unless it contravenes the first law. Thirdly…"

Sheppard waved a hand. "Does this have a point, McKay?"

"Yes," the scientist retorted. "Look, it's possible the Ancients programmed their own computers with something similar. I always thought it was possible, given the fail safes put on the city."

"And that green doohickey," Ford added.

"And that." McKay glanced about the ditch. "It would make sense that they applied the same rules to an artificial intelligence they created."

"But it does not seem to have worked," Teyla objected. "The computer is not protecting those trapped within it."

One finger rose into the air. "Ah. Very true, but I think I know why that is. This computer was programmed to do things, correct? To sustain the lives of the people within it. The Ancients designed the system to protect them during their sleep, but they didn't expect it to take this long. When power started to fail the computer was faced with two possible outcomes: if it did nothing then chances were that supply to the chambers would fail at an unpredictable rate, leading to multiple deaths. The alternative was to shut down some areas and channel the power to others."

"So it chooses to sacrifice one life to protect the others," Sheppard finished, his expression grim.

"One life, or eighty." McKay gave a thin, humorless smile. "The eastern wing should have held as many stasis chambers as the one we saw, but power had gone completely in that area. Somehow I don't think that was a mistake."

Aiden's voice was dry and nervous. "So what effect are we causing to the system?"

"Probably a big one. My scans showed that this room used a lot more power than just one of those chambers."

"So why does it not simply switch off?" Teyla asked.

The scientist hesitated, a rare look of doubt appearing on his face. "I'm not sure, It still might although if hasn't already…" He spread his fingers expressively. "I don't know. I have an idea but my biggest concern is where it's going to draw power from to keep the game going."

"Other chambers," Aiden suggested.

"Possibly." McKay grimaced. "Or the Stargate itself."

"Meaning that even if we get out of this game, we can't dial Atlantis." Sheppard rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "And neither can any team sent to rescue us."

"Precisely." McKay shrugged. "Of course, it's only a theory. I have others."

"Such as?"

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "The increasing fluctuations in the system could cause a spike big enough to drain all the stasis chambers of power and, ah, fry everybody here." He winced. "Not that we'd be aware of it, of course, because we'd still be trapped in the game, but our bodies would be little more than KFC."

Teyla didn't know the reference, but she understood the sick expression on Aiden's face. "The computer has fail safes…"

"It's ten thousand years old. It's unpredictable." The scientist frowned deeply, tilting his head to one side. "Of course, if I'm right then…"

A shrill scream suddenly rent the air to their left. Teyla was jolted back into the memory, hearing the sounds of people running, shouting to each other, crying. Turning away from her teammates she leant up and over the ditch, peering across the muddy field.

The village was entirely aflame now, bright yellow and orange illuminating the sky. She could still see shadows moving within, twisted and ruined figures destroyed by fire, or by Wraith. Several darts hovered overhead, black outlines against the sky, and a solitary beam picked off the survivors one by one.

But this was not how it had happened. Not such destruction. The Wraith had come, but not in such numbers, and had not taken so many. The village, its buildings and structure, had remained despite the loss of life. They had survived.

"Teyla…"

She flinched, turning her head to see Sheppard, lying in the dirt beside her. McKay and Aiden still hid in the ditch, the young lieutenant taking up the rear and looking out into the fields behind them, the scientist stood pressed into the far corner, now silent.

"Teyla," Sheppard repeated, softly.

She looked away, back to the remains of her home, towards the uneven road that curved away from the village. A crowd of several dozen people made its way along the trail, the leaders running, the back supporting a few stumbling stragglers.

"This is a lie," she said, softly, more for herself than to convince Sheppard. "The Wraith did not destroy my people."

"I know," he whispered, watching the pitifully small group draw closer.

"And yet…" She dug her fingers into the dirt, hoping to find solace in the earth. "This is too real." Straining to see through the dim light, Teyla could make out faces, memories resurrected and now running along the path towards them. Halling led the way, his youth granting him agility. At the back Brelan and Karet, identifiable by the distinctive red in their hair, aided the weakest. They were brothers, separated by barely a year, and inseparable even in their deaths.

And in the middle, her arm looped around the waist of an elderly woman with long, white hair…

"What is it?" Sheppard placed his hand on her arm. "Teyla?"

"My mother." She shook her head, hoping that when she lifted her gaze the memory would have ended.

It hadn't. The group was moving closer, back lit by the flames consuming the village. Twisting, Teyla could follow the line of the path towards the outline of the hill beyond, and she knew that behind that lay the Stargate. To the left lay the caves, the only sanctuary to her people, the only thing that had saved them in the past.

So why were they heading to the 'gate?

She looked back towards the group, torn by her desire to help her people, and the voice of reason in her head which repeated, this isn't real, this isn't real.

Her body decided for her. Breaking free of Sheppard's hold, Teyla pushed herself out of the ditch and started to run across the field, ignoring her team mate's alarm. The surviving villagers seemed oblivious, both to her fast approach and the shimmer of white which moved in the forest behind them.

Wraith, Teyla realized, feeling sick. She drew extra power to her legs to try and gain speed, but the muddy field blocked her attempts, and as she struggled to free each footstep the earth made a loud, sucking sound as it tried to claim them.

"Teyla!"

Sheppard appeared to her left, Ford and McKay close behind. All three men were armed, Ford carrying his P90 in his hands.

"Wait."

She shook her head. "They are going the wrong way. The Wraith will have dialed the Stargate, making it impossible to escape. The caves have always been our hiding place - I do not understand why they do not go there."

"Because this isn't real," Sheppard repeated, insistently.

"No." She glanced back towards the group. "And yet I cannot leave them."

"Teyla…"

"Please, Major." Teyla could see her mother stumble, drawn down by the weight of the woman she supported. "I have to do this."

He took a deep breath, then released it as a sigh. "Alright. But we're backing you up."

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she nodded. "There are Wraith in the trees, following them."

"I see them," Ford offered, looking towards the forest through a pair of binoculars. "At least four."

"Four?" McKay squeaked.

"We're just protecting the group," Sheppard cut in, sharply. "We may not have to take them on."

McKay's expression clearly communicated his disbelief. "And do you have any clue as to what happens if we die in here? Because I don't."

Ford lifted his hand and gave a weak wave. "Shot by a staff weapon."

The scientist gave a grudging nod. "Still…"

Fear and anger welled inside Teyla, forcing her to snap: "If you do not wish to help me, Dr McKay, then stay behind." Then she pulled up her feet from the mud and broke out into a run, fighting against the mud to reach her people.

She was aware of Sheppard, of Aiden and McKay following a second later, but their presence was unimportant in the plight of her people. Only one dart remained over the village; the other two circled the outskirts, picking off the survivors. They had not yet spotted the handful escaping towards the Stargate, but Teyla knew it was only a matter of minutes.

Halling spotted her first, his quick gesture towards the small group bringing them to a shambling stop. "Where did you come from?"

She glanced towards the flames, then at the forest to their left. "I was hiding until I saw you. I bring friends."

Halling gave Sheppard, Ford and McKay a cursory glance, then turned towards the crowd and called out: "Teyla is returned to us."

"Teyla." Her mother moved through the small group, leaving the elderly lady to the care of a teenage boy. She grasped her daughter by both arms, pulling her close, dipping her forehead forward.

Teyla allowed the touch to linger longer than was necessary, drinking in the soft, herbal smell of the soap her mother used to wash her hair, the warmth of her mother's fingers against her skin, the sound of her breath, the feel of it brushing against Teyla's cheek.

"I thought that you were lost."

She swallowed tears and broke away, the effort physically painful. "As did I, you. You head towards the Stargate?"

Halling nodded, running one hand over his head to brush long, dark blonde hair out of his face. "We must abandon Athos. The Wraith have destroyed everything."

She shook her head quickly. "The way will be blocked, they will have dialed in to prevent our escape."

"You do not know that," he shot back. "Others have gone ahead of us to safety."

"Then they are likely dead too."

"You should listen to her," Sheppard broke in, warningly. "It's the truth."

Teyla's mother looked across from her daughter towards the strangers. "You have seen this?"

"Yes," the Major lied, convincingly. "We've come from there."

"Then where do we go?" Halling demanded. "Should we simply hand ourselves over willingly, like cattle?"

Teyla had forgotten this earlier incarnation of her friend. The younger Halling had been obnoxious and arrogant, believing he deserved the place of future Athosian leader, and not the younger Teyla. Time spent with his wife had softened him, the birth of Jinto shaping him into the strong, centered man Teyla knew and trusted.

"You must go to the caves," she explained, "to hide there and wait for this to be over."

"That way leads back to the village," the man insisted. "It is madness, Teyla. They will find us."

"Perhaps," she admitted. "But that way there is hope. If we remain out in the open the darts _will_ find us."

"Major," Aiden interrupted, sharply. In one hand he held the binoculars, and the other he used to point towards the forest. "We have to move."

Teyla allowed herself to feel the whisper of Wraith voices, glancing towards their origin. Shadows moved through the trees, the shimmer of visions and lies.

"We head to the caves," her mother declared, strongly.

Halling shook his head. "You are not the leader of our people."

"No," the older woman snapped back, "but my husband was, and my daughter will be. You will listen to her."

The man hesitated, briefly, glancing between Teyla and the group of people cowering behind him. "As you wish," he acquiesced, eventually, stepping aside to allow Teyla to assume his position at the head of the group.

"Great." Sheppard hefted the weapon in his arms deliberately. "Then let's go."

Teyla moved with certainty towards the village. She could smell ash and smoke, and beneath that the putrid scent of flesh. Hot air filled her lungs and burnt her throat, growing in power as they approached. Movement was slow, and she was quiet, keeping close to her mother. Sheppard moved easily beside her, looking towards the hills, while Halling had fallen to the rear, keeping look-out with Aiden.

The group was small, no more than twenty people. Five, broad shouldered men protected either side, casting glances up into the forest. Several supported weaker members, the elderly, the injured. Several women held the hands of frightened, weeping children, and one cradled a baby to her chest, half buried beneath swathes of cloth.

None carried any belongings save for the clothes on their backs.

"What happened?" Teyla asked, softly, looking towards her mother. "Why are there so few of you?"

"We stayed behind, to save those who could not move alone. The strongest went ahead," her mother explained. Her expression darkened. "I do not know whether they made it through the Stargate."

"They may be at the caves already," Sheppard suggested.

Teyla's glance was shared by her mother. "Perhaps," she allowed, despite her doubt.

He raised an eyebrow pointedly, an unspoken reminder: _this isn't real_. She looked away, and towards her mother, her hand seeking the older woman's wrist in the dark.

Her mother turned deep eyes towards her daughter. "Teyla?"

"I do not wish to lose you," she whispered, feeling her mother's pulse beat quickly beneath her fingertips.

This was not real, but she was finding it harder and harder to believe that.

"Major!"

Aiden had his gun aimed towards the trees, where silver shadows moved quickly towards the group, dropping down the slope at speed. Alarmed, Teyla picked up the pace, aware of the struggles of the people behind her.

"Quickly," she called out. "The caves are not far."

They were approaching the outskirts of the village, smoke hanging thick and heavy in the air. Hearing gunfire, Teyla glanced behind her and saw Aiden and McKay firing at two Wraith which had appeared behind them. One fell and did not move again, but the second was joined by a third, firing a stunner bolt that clipped the shoulder of Brelan. He fell with a cry, and was immediately hauled over the shoulder of his brother.

Turning forward, she was aware of the air shifting, glimmering with light and shadow. Fighting the instinct to flee she pushed through the illusion, warning the others: "Ignore all you see. The Wraith will try to trick you into leaving the path."

She heard a sob, and the explosion of a stunner bolt hitting the earth.

"Listen to my daughter," her mother urged, loudly. "Our aim is to reach the caves. Concentrate on that."

Teyla led the group around the village outskirts, hoping the smoke and flames would hide the group from the overhead darts. She was aware of the minds of the Wraith, growing louder and denser, and beneath them the cries of injured, dying Athosians trapped in the burning buildings.

"We should help them," Halling insisted, moving to her side.

She shook her head, her tongue thick and throat clogged. "If we try then we will all be killed."

There was more gunfire from behind the group, and another Wraith fell. The two remaining soldiers chased after the group, and she heard McKay scream as weapons fire threatened to clip him. Another body fell to her left, the white haired woman Teyla's mother had been supporting. She heard weakened bones crunch against the impact and flinched. In less than a second Halling had scooped the woman up and over his shoulder, but Teyla was suddenly aware that, given her age and injuries, there was little point.

Without medical care the woman would likely die, even if they reached the caves.

But she would not be alone, and in the caves, Teyla had promised there would be hope.

"Last one down!" Ford exclaimed triumphantly, and she took this as confirmation of her belief, feeling the whole group stand a little straighter as the last Wraith fell.

There was a scream from her right, and Teyla whipped her head around to see a figure emerge from a burning tent. No longer male or female, it was a barely human shape of black skin and flame, arms flailing, legs driving it across the ground, sparks and ash clouding it in a strange, eerie halo. It lurched towards the group, and Teyla was aware of sobs, of disbelieving cries, of men and women cowering in fear.

The figure stopped and stood, swaying, its disfigured face turning to face Teyla, its mouth opening, dripping with blood and melted flesh and flame, releasing a long, strangled howl.

A single bullet from Sheppard's gun curtailed the cry abruptly. The figure crumpled to the earth, no longer anything but fuel for an all consuming fire. Teyla swallowed against bile and glanced at the Major, seeing his grim expression and black eyes.

"Which way?" he demanded, his voice flat.

She struggled to find her voice, turning away from what once had been a person. "To the north, less than a kilometer from here."

He nodded sharply and picked his pace up, forcing the group onwards. The brief morale boost provided by the dead Wraith had evaporated as quickly as it had come and now the survivors moved silently, save for weeping and the cries of the baby.

The air shrieked above them, and looking upwards Teyla saw a Wraith dart shoot across the sky, a transporter beam sweeping across the village. Ducking to her right she led the group away, concentrating on the hills that loomed before her.

It had provided sanctuary to her people throughout their history, allowing Athos to survive despite the loss of some of its people. Teyla could remember hiding in the caves as a child, staring blindly into the darkness, hearing the same rattle of Wraith darts in the sky above, her hand clutched in her mothers in the same way as it was now.

"Dammit!" Sheppard swore sharply, turning his gun upwards and firing off a round into the night. A dart flashed through the sky, a mere silhouette of black against the stars, blurred by smoke and flame. "We've been spotted!"

"Into the forest!" Teyla urged, sharpening her right turn and taking her people up a slope. The journey would be longer, she realized, and harder on those weaker members of the party, but the Wraith would find it harder to pick them off through the trees.

It seemed this had been expected. She was aware of their minds before she saw them, a sudden swelling of voices in her head, an alien coldness that remained indefinable, coiling itself around her spine.

The first, a tall, skinny figure with lank hair, grabbed a teenager who was stumbling towards the back. The boy screamed as he died, his hands scrabbling at his chest even as the skin shriveled and shrank back over his bones. Teyla ploughed onwards, though his loss tore at her, releasing her hold on her mother's hand to raise her own weapon.

She turned it on a second Wraith who appeared from over a hill. Its body fell down the slope and rolled out of sight, its arms and legs continuing to twitch despite six bullets in its torso.

Two more appeared to her left. A stunner took down another survivor, and an older man with a peppery beard fell at the Wraith's feet. Forcing herself to continue, Teyla fired several more shots at the alien, but was unable to prevent its comrade from leaning down over the body of the man and planting its hand firmly against his chest.

"Teyla!"

Turning, Teyla saw a beam appear through the trees, speeding towards the centre of the group. Karet disappeared, his brother Brelan still slung over his shoulder. A second later and two more Athosians had joined them, the group growing smaller and more hysterical. Desperate, Teyla sought out her mother, catching a glimpse of familiar eyes and dark hair, forgetting the reminder of Sheppard, forgetting the alarmed cry of Halling as another two Wraith appeared on the path before them.

"Teyla!"

Her mother was helping a younger girl to her feet, pulling her upwards and dragging her back onto the path. Teyla saw the Wraith beam change direction, heard the shift of wind and subtle tonal difference in the voices of the aliens inside her mind.

The warning was not enough. Teyla reached out with one hand, but the distance was too great, and before she could do anything her mother and the younger girl were caught in the wave of brilliant silver.

She caught a glimpse of her mother's face, strong and defiant despite her fear, lit by the eerie light of the beam. And then she was gone.

"Teyla!"

Sheppard's repeated warning came too late. Turning, Teyla was aware of cold breath and a hand on her shoulder, and then a sudden weight pressing against her chest. She staggered backwards, a sharp, painful chill spreading quickly across her ribcage, her breath frozen within her lungs. The Wraith smiled, teeth glittering, its hair framing its face as it bent over her, its fingers spread flat across her skin.

Distantly, she was aware of someone calling her, and of gunfire. Then the pressure in her chest was gone, the Wraith dropping away. She fell, her body numb and unaware of the jolt when she hit the ground.

"Teyla!" Doctor McKay's panicked face appeared above her, his breath coming in short gasps, his skin an ill-looking white in the moonlight. She could not feel his hands on her, but she was aware of her vision shifting, of her body being lifted and supported by something behind her.

"It's okay, it's okay." He repeated the mantra several times, and she could see his hands frantically rubbing hers, as though somehow this would ease the pain crushing her throat and ribs. "This isn't real. It's a game, remember?"

She tried to speak, tried to tell him he couldn't remember, but her mouth seemed unwilling to move and her vision was darkening. She could no longer hear McKay, but through the gloom she saw him speak to her, saw him mouth a desperate plea: _not like this, god, not like this._

And then she couldn't see him at all.


	16. Leaving Kansas

Chapter Sixteen - Leaving Kansas

When McKay came to he found himself lying on the cold, metal floor of a windowless corridor, its gray, featureless walls dark and filled with shadows.

Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, Rodney looked about him, finding himself alone. The corridor stretched out behind and in front of him, eventually disappearing into the black. Dim lighting set into the ceiling provided some illumination.

"Hello?" He stood, leaning on the wall for support. "Major Sheppard? Teyla? Lieutenant Ford?"

The only reply was his own voice, reflected back to him.

"Okay. Alone in a dark corridor. Not scared at all." He swallowed hard, and looked to his left and right. The last thing he remembered was bending over Teyla, her face lined with premature age, her normally vibrant eyes cloudy, listening to the breath rattle in her chest. And then there had been the sound of a stunner from behind him, and something had exploded across his back, and he had fallen forward, unconscious.

And now he was alone.

"Major?"

He listened intently for several seconds, desperate for any response, his nerves wired tight. When a reply came from loud within his ear he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"_McKay? Where the hell are you?"_

Fumbling, he reached up to the radio strapped to the side of his face and flipped the on switch. "Major?"

"_McKay! Are you alright?"_

His shoulders sagged in relief. "Yes, yes I'm fine. What happened to you?"

"_The usual. Knocked out by a Wraith, woke up in a new game. Teyla and Ford are with me."_

"Is she alright?" he asked quickly, fearing the smell of blow back.

"_I am fine, Doctor McKay."_ Her voice was strong, though a little unsteady. Understandable, he decided, shivering. _"We all are."_

"Good. Great."

" _Is this one yours?"_

He didn't have to ask what Sheppard meant. "I don't know. I'm in some sort of corridor." He frowned, taking a closer look at the walls. "I don't recognize this place."

"_Neither do we. Look, McKay, you're going to have to come and find us. You've got your scanner?"_

He patted a pocket of his jacket and felt something hard and rectangular. "Yes." Pulling the scanner out, he thought the device on and watched as the screen glowed, illuminating the dark space. Four small dots interrupted the neat plan of lines and levels, three of them clustered together, the fourth some distance away. "I see you. I'm about five minutes away."

"_Great. We're trapped in a room and it seems to be locked. Ford's trying to…"_

Across the radio came the muffled sound of Aiden cursing, and a thump.

"_Scratch that. We're stuck."_

McKay puffed out his chest a little, and sighed melodramatically. "Need me to rescue you?"

"_Just get here, Superman."_

The radio cut off with a crackle. Looking back down at the scanner, McKay traced his path towards the three dots, setting off through the corridor. The décor, now that he paid closer attention, seemed of Ancient origin, but damp with disuse, like the lower sections of Atlantis. There was power running through the walls, providing a detailed floor map to the scanner, but it did nothing to illuminate the small space anymore than the pitiful ceiling lights did.

He was starting to feel increasingly claustrophobic, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. Concentrating on the map, Rodney took a right at the end of the corridor, then a left through an open door. It was metal, and nearly featureless save for a pane of darkened glass in its center. Each step he took into a new area was slow and cautious, ready to propel him back the way he had come the moment any sign of trouble appeared.

The scanner's screen flickered. Frowning, McKay gave it an experimental tap with the side of his hand. It flickered again, then steadied, but the image seemed weaker than before.

There was something odd about the building he walked through. He studied the walls, the energy readings, the floor beneath his feet, to no avail. Something elusive evaded him, a niggling sensation at the back of his mind, the reminder that something was missing, something so natural it was usually overlooked, like breathing or blinking.

He reached a second door, and almost walked straight into it before he realized it wasn't going to open for him. Frowning, McKay waved a hand experimentally in front of the door and thought, deliberately, _'on'_.

Nothing moved.

"Great. Even the doors are out to get me."

His voice echoed around the empty corridor, making him flinch. The silence that followed seemed oppressive and threatening. Stretching out his hand, McKay jumped a foot back and released an alarmed squeal when the door opened without his fingers reaching the release panel.

Cautiously he poked his head around the open doorway, then stepped through when it didn't close on him.

The scanner flickered again. He whacked it harder with the side of his hand in frustration, wincing at the resulting pain.

"Dammit!"

His voice squeaked nervously.

The three dots were closer to him now. Two corridors and another door, this one open. There was no change in the décor, and when McKay finally stumbled into the reclamation plant the sudden change in location took his breath away.

The room was four stories high, the space dominated by three huge tanks which sat in the middle of the floor and towered over the scientist. A thick network of pipes connected them, and were monitored by a long control console which lay at their head. It was dark and lifeless, the pipes and tanks behind it motionless.

"_McKay? Where the hell are you?"_

He scowled, and hit the talk button. "I'm right on top of you, Major. Keep your panties straight for a second."

The scanner showed that he should have been sharing space with his team mates, his dot over the three others. The screen flickered again, then abruptly died, the device sputtering into the dark. McKay cursed, but the scanner's failure had not come before he realized the truth.

"I'm in the room above you. It's some sort of desalination area, like the ones on Atlantis, but smaller." He frowned, crossing over to the console. "What can you see, Major?"

"_Walls, ceiling, floor. Not much else."_

"Helpful. Anything else?"

Aiden's voice carried clearly over the radio. _"There's a really small hatch on one of the walls, like a door in a submarine, but it's locked. I tried getting it open but it won't budge. And there's a big grate in the center of the floor, but it's welded shut."_

"Anything else?"

Teyla's voice. _"There is a large pipe in the ceiling but there are no hand holds for us to climb up."_

"_And there's a camera,"_ Sheppard added. _"Not sure if it's working. Can you see us?"_

McKay looked at the darkened unit. He knew there was an identical console in the bowels of Atlantis, he had spent many hours wrestling with its ancient systems with Zelenka, but looking at the one before him it seemed unfamiliar and alien. Cautiously he placed a hand on its surface, but nothing reacted to his touch.

There was a small monitor set into its surface several inches from his hand. Hesitantly he ran his hand across its screen and pulled back as it, and the console that held it, burst into life. The monitor flipped on, displaying a grainy picture of the room his team had described. Sheppard stood closest to the camera.

"I see you."

"_Get us out of here, McKay."_

"Impatient, are we?" he joked, hunkering down onto his knees to get at the underneath of the console. Taking a flat headed screwdriver from his pocket, McKay slid the metal under a gap and levered a panel away from the console base, revealing a chamber full of multi-colored crystals.

He stared at them for several long moments, aware of his chest tightening, his heart suddenly racing.

Two months ago one of the pumps on Atlantis had short circuited, and forced McKay to spend an entire afternoon trying to reroute the flow of water into a different part of the pipe network. His efforts had been aided by Zelenka and Dave Ashcroft, one of the brighter engineers and an amiable man invulnerable to McKay's acerbic nature. Together the three scientists had managed to successfully navigate around the broken system, and in less than a day had repaired and replaced the pump, restoring Atlantis' reclamation plant to its usual output.

Though terrible with remembering names and faces, McKay had a near photographic memory when it came to the layout of machines, and the console in the reclamation plant had been no different. Even now, nine weeks later, he could close his eyes and recall the color and size of each crystal, and its setting within the cabinet.

But he could no longer remember what any of those crystals did, or what he had done to repair them.

"_McKay? What's happening?"_

"Nothing," he snapped back, hoping the nerves he felt weren't heard in his voice. Slowly, his hand trembling slightly, McKay touched the nearest crystal; a large, five sided blue rock which pulsed warmly. The instant his fingertips touched it's surface pain lanced from the crystal into his palm and he yelped, tugging his injured hand out of the chamber and cradling it to his chest.

"_What was that? You okay?"_

"Yes, yes." He sucked on his crisped fingers, staring hard at the blue.

_Think, McKay. You've done this before. Blue crystal power, power bad. Disable the energy input before getting electrocuted again._

He took a deep breath, studying the various glass pieces to no avail. There was nothing to help him to identify their purpose, nothing to remind him of the neat repair job he had accomplished only weeks earlier. Worse, he was not even able to remember the simplest of functions, struggling to wrap his mind around the concepts of energy flow, and negative charges, and currents.

His hand nudged a green one, small and slender. Biting his lip, McKay tentatively placed the edge of his littlest finger on its surface, then when he did not receive another shock, quickly wrapped his entire fist around the crystal and yanked it out of its slot.

The power to the console suddenly died, both its innards and its display fading into darkness. McKay released a soft, triumphant crow that was cut short as, a second later, the entire plant descended into the black. He sat for a moment, listening to his breath come in quick, panicked gasps.

"_McKay? Something moved in here."_

"Yeah." His voice sounded weak and reedy. "Slight technical hitch."

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

Pushing himself back onto his knees, McKay leant forward and carefully replaced the green crystal into its slot. Immediately the entire room lit up, as did the console and the display monitor, Sheppard's anxious face reappearing on the screen. A deep rumbling began to emanate from the tanks behind him, the pipes ratting and creaking.

Lurching to his feet, McKay leant over the tiny monitor, forgetting for a moment that the occupants of the chamber couldn't see him. "This is harder than I thought."

"_Can you do it?"_

"Yes," he snapped, automatically. "I can do it." A nervous tremor ran down his arm, one he was glad Sheppard was blind to.

The small room seemed to have no apparent light source. His teammates all held a flashlight each, sweeping them across the room. Ford had his fixed on the ceiling pipe.

"_Major, doc? This thing is making some strange noises."_

Quickly, McKay moved away from the monitor and started studying the other output from the console. "What kind of noises?"

"_I can hear water, and something else."_

He paused, listening intently to the radio. After a second he heard it - a distant splashing sound, and the grating noise of metal moving against metal.

He didn't need an understanding of the plant to know that the sound was bad, and neither did his teammates.

"_McKay, whatever it is you're doing, it'd be great if you could speed it up a little."_

"Right, right," he muttered, looking over the console. "No pressure."

His hands ran over another, larger display. Schematics appeared beneath his fingertips, a plan of the plant, its tanks, and the network of pipes and chambers beneath it. Ancient script in a tiny font scrolled beside various sections, and McKay squinted at it, bending low over the screen.

A nauseous feeling started rising in his stomach.

"_McKay! There's water coming from the pipe!"_

He scrubbed a hand across his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Of course there is."

"_Anytime you feel like getting us out of here, Rodney. My feet are getting wet."_

"You might have to roll your pant legs up." His voice was weak in disbelief. "There's a hitch."

He heard Sheppard curse over the radio, and Teyla's smooth: _"What sort of hitch, Doctor McKay?"_

"I can't read."

"_You cannot read what?"_

"Ancient." He coughed, his chest feeling tight. "I can't read Ancient."

"_Now is not the time to be funny,"_ Sheppard growled.

"I'm not trying to make you laugh!" McKay squeaked back, running one hand over the console. The display screen shifted under his touch, changing to show more letters, page upon page of script, as meaningless to him as Chinese.

More meaningless, he reflected, his mind threatening to go awol in protest. He actually recognized the Chinese symbols for exit, toilet, man and, after an unfortunate moment of cultural misunderstanding, woman. But not this. Not a word, not a single letter.

"_Rodney?"_

"I can't." He took a fold of forearm skin between his thumb and forefinger and pinched tightly. "That didn't work."

"_What didn't?"_

He looked back down to the random squiggle of Ancient lettering, and briefly toyed with the idea of clicking his heels.

"It doesn't make any sense, Major. The text, the plans…" He shuddered. "Any of it."

"_All of it or…"_

"All of it!" he snapped, yelling down the microphone. "It makes about as much sense as one of Carson's papers, alright? I don't understand how this works, I don't know what any of this does, I don't even know where you are!" He cut off, panting heavily.

On the screen, Sheppard leaned up and peered into the camera, as though he could see the scientist. His expression had sobered from the anger and confusion of before.

"_It's the game, McKay. Remember? Just try to relax."_

As if to deliberately confound him - not, McKay reflected, such an insane idea - at that moment the sound of water increased, from a soft rumbling to a full throated roar. He heard Ford give an alarmed cry, and something splashed. On the screen he saw Sheppard turn, and water flooded through the ceiling pipe, Aiden slipping from his precarious position pressed up against it and hitting the floor butt first. Murky liquid pooled around him, an inch deep and rising fast.

"_Oh, great. Perfect. Lieutenant, you okay?"_

"_Just bruised, sir."_ Aiden pushed himself to his feet, using Teyla's offered hand as leverage.

Sheppard looked back towards the camera, lines of tension betraying his worry. _"It's okay, we've got time. It doesn't matter if you can't read the text, just try to find the room."_

"Right, right." He pushed himself away from the console, looking up at the tanks that towered above him. "The water must be coming from somewhere, right?"

Walking across to the trio, McKay felt tiny and insignificant under their height. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, and he shivered, touching the side of the nearest with his palm. It was room temperature, steady beneath him. Moving to the next, he again touched its surface, but the second felt different, cold and vibrating steadily. Looking up he could see a distant dial set in metal, half way up its height, but the numbers on it were unreadable, as alien to him as the schematics.

"I think I've found the tank the water's coming from."

"_Great. But, ah, can you hurry it up?"_ The sound of splashing was louder. _"It's getting a little damp in here."_

He started to circle the tank cautiously, noticing the way numerous thin pipes led to its top from various points in the walls and ceiling. Following the tank walk around to the back, he found four heavy set tubes leading from its base and disappearing around the back of its neighbors. Again placing his hand against the metal, McKay checked until he found the one pipe that was vibrating, and started to follow it across the plant room floor. Twenty yards from the tank it plunged into the ground.

"Knock on the ceiling," he demanded, kneeling.

"_What?"_

"Now, Major."

There was a pause, and muffled words on the radio. Several seconds later three thuds rattled the floor a few spaces from his feet.

The sense of relief was immense, but fleeting. "I've found you."

"_Good start."_ There was a pause. _"Teyla, try the floor grid. Lieutenant, have another look at the door."_

"I'll get you out," McKay promised quickly, standing up.

"_I know you will McKay. Just working with what we have. Any chance of switching the water off?"_

He ran back to the console, his hands skittering across the dials and crystals. Despite locating his team McKay found himself in no better position to understand the information the console gave to him. The schematics were nothing more meaningful than an elaborate doodle, and the readings it provided were useless. Briefly he considered trying the crystals again, but a quick glance into the dizzying array of colors and lights nearly had him revisiting lunch.

He looked back at the monitor. In the locked room, Teyla was on her hands and knees, spluttering as she struggled to pull up the grid despite the increasing volume of water. Sheppard crouched on the opposite side of her, craning his head back and tugging at the unseen grid. After several seconds he lost his grip and tumbled backwards into the water.

"Major!"

Coughing, Sheppard struggled to his feet and turned his face towards the camera. _"I'm fine, McKay. Just keep working."_

Turning, Rodney looked miserably back at the console. His hands had started shaking, his breath coming short and fast. Trying one control experimentally, he flinched as it caused the first tank to rattle and groan, and quickly pushed the panel back into place.

"It doesn't make any sense," he protested, wanting to scream at the unfairness. "I know this, Major. This should be child's play, it should be simple…"

"_McKay!"_ Sheppard's voice sounded strained, revealing his fear. _"Just concentrate! You keep telling us how you're a genius, well prove it!"_

That was a little unfair, the tiny voice in McKay's head protested. He _did_ know this, it was engineering one-oh-one, even Kavanagh would have had no problem in switching off the tank's output and opening up the room but his mind wasn't working, refusing to process the information his eyes and ears were telling it. The Ancient text blurred before his eyes, the walls of the immense room closing in on him, his claustrophobia increasing despite its size.

The water was already past Sheppard's waist. Teyla had abandoned her assault on the floor grid and was now trying to help Ford shift the immovable door. Sheppard was clinging onto the edge of the ceiling with one hand, trying to push himself towards it, constantly spitting out the water which streamed into his face.

McKay turned his gaze away, once again looking at the schematics of the plant. He closed his eyes, and tried to remember the work he had Zelenka had done to Atlantis, the decision Radek had taken to switch off the supply before venturing into its bowels with Ashcroft. An Ancient stop-cock, the Yorkshireman had declared, wrenching around a cross-shaped wheel with his large hands.

But there was no wheel, and McKay could not understand the plans well enough to even guess at its alternative. He slammed his fist against the screen, wincing when pain shot up his wrist.

"_McKay! I heard that and unless that's you having a eureka moment then give it up! Think, this should be easy!"_

It should be, the voice said, and McKay fought the desire to curl up on the floor and hide until everything went away. His hands were slick with sweat, his uniform clinging to his body.

And there was the niggling sensation that something was very, very wrong indeed…

But it was harder to hear the voice, buried as it was beneath the alarmed shouts of his teammates as they struggled against water that lapped at their shoulders. McKay was fighting to not give in to panic, struggling for clarity despite the thundering of his heart and the dry, fuzzy taste of bile in his mouth. He slapped at another control, then another, making the pipes rattle and the floor shudder, but the water continued to pour from the ceiling into the tiny room and suddenly all three of his friends were paddling, desperate to keep their heads above water. Waves lapped close to the camera, and the sounds of coughing and spluttering carried over the radio.

"_What the hell are you doing, McKay?"_

"I'm trying!" he protested, torn between the unfamiliar console and the struggles of his teammates.

"_You're not going to be in time,"_ Ford protested, pressed up between the ceiling and the wall.

"_Doctor McKay, please…" _Teyla's words were lost beneath the water, the Athosian suddenly lost under a wave. She reappeared a second later, her hair dark and wet, plastered to her head and shoulders, her face pale and eyes frightened.

Teyla never looked frightened, McKay thought. He tasted lunch again.

"_McKay!"_ Sheppard was closest to the camera, the angle distorting his face. _"I thought you could fix it!"_

"I'm trying!" he repeated, his throat tight, his eyes hot. Dropping down to his knees he plunged his arm deep into the heart of the console, pulling out handfuls of crystals at random. Around him lights flickered, tanks shook and pipes wailed, but nothing stopped the continuing flow of water.

The amount of splashing and coughing coming from the radio was increasing in frequency, but the words were not.

"_There's no more time."_

Briefly McKay dipped his head, catching a glimpse of the floor beneath his feet. He dropped his hand and felt the metal under his fingers, willing it to open, desperate for the Ancient computer to hear him.

Nothing happened. He stood, Sheppard's words echoing in his head. The small monitor displayed a sea of rippling gray, broken by the occasional snatch of dark gray fabric or pale, ghostly skin.

He could hear his teammates struggling, someone breathing hard, someone gagging. Someone that might have been Sheppard, trying to form a word.

And then there was nothing except the continuous rumbling of the great tanks.

The screen flickered, fizzed with static, and then went dark, the camera finally dying.

McKay could still hear water.

Dropping to his knees, he closed his eyes tight against burning tears and hugged his arms across his chest. Still his mind sought answers, running over the crystals and colors and lights in his head, wanting a way out, wanting to achieve the impossible. He choked, the floor hard against his knees, knowing his teammates were only inches from him, buried by metal and several tons of water. His skin pricked, heat burning against the back of his neck.

Heat.

That was odd.

Wiping an unwilling rough hand across his eyes, McKay lifted his head and blinked in the sudden, blinding sunlight.


	17. Insensible

Chapter Seventeen - Insensible

"McKay."

The scientist flinched beneath Sheppard's touch, his shoulder recoiling. Sheppard watched him breath heavily, knelt in the dust, his knees sinking slowly into the sand.

He tried again, keeping his voice soft. "Hey, Rodney."

"No…"

He heard McKay gag, and squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand firmly.

"Doctor McKay." Teyla kept her distance, but allowed her shadow to fall across the sand in front of the physicist. "It was not real."

"We're fine," Aiden ventured, although his voice sounded uncertain.

There was a moment of silence, throughout which McKay continued to breathe heavily, and Sheppard said nothing, allowing his friend to slowly come to terms with the lie.

Eventually, he heard a soft response. "I can't." And then the shoulder stiffened, muscles knotting in the man's back, and McKay jerkily pulled out from under Sheppard's touch and rose, swiping a hand across his eyes quickly.

"That wasn't pleasant." He dropped his hand, and peered at his teammates with a look of hunger. "You're alright?"

"Yeah." Sheppard considered his response, and corrected: "Mostly."

"It was… uncomfortable," Teyla admitted.

"You were in the tank."

"Yeah." Ford was examining his uniform. "The water was rising pretty quickly."

McKay's throat was bobbing threateningly. Wincing in sympathy, Sheppard interrupted: "the door opened and we got out."

"Right." McKay heaved a sigh, and waved a hand expressively. "Because, ah, in my version… you didn't."

"It was not real," Teyla repeated, firmly.

"It was pretty convincing. I couldn't…" Rodney cut off abruptly, turning to look at his surroundings for the first time. "Huh."

Desert.

Sand in the air that caught the back of the throat and stung the eyes. A wind whipping rough against an unprotected face, snatching any breath before each inhale. Sun on the back of the neck, chilled so hot the burn was never felt.

_Oh yeah,_ Sheppard reflected,_ this feels familiar._

"Where are we?"

Ford looked up at McKay's question and glanced at Teyla. She shook her head, hair falling across her eyes, protecting her from some of the dust.

"I do not recognize this place."

McKay shrugged. "I prefer greener climates."

Sheppard raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun's glare, felt his hand bump against the brim of a hat and tugged the headwear down. "It's Afghanistan."

A barren land lay about them for several miles, rolling, undulating sand that sported a few shriveled shrubs and little else. On the horizon rose towering mountains, great, jagged peaks topped by snow. To the east and below them a small settlement could be seen, clinging to the edges of a shimmering body of water.

"Afghanistan," Teyla said, confused.

"Yeah. Lake Zarbol. Just outside the border with Tajikistan." He tugged the hat down further, hiding his eyes from his team members' gaze.

"It's a place on Earth," Aiden explained, at Sheppard's silence. "It was a war zone, until recently."

"And not for the first time," McKay added. He was starting to regain some color in his face, a hot pink covering the sickly white. One hand provided shelter for his eyes, and he grimaced at the sun's glare. "I wonder what the UV levels are like."

"It's virtual reality," Aiden reminded him. "The sun isn't real. No permanent damage."

He cut off abruptly, but not soon enough to stop a look of horror from flashing across McKay's face. The scientist recovered quickly, plastering another grimace across his face and snapping: "I burn easily. Forgive me for being a little over cautious."

Sheppard gritted his teeth at the whine, feeling tense and irritable. The memory was his, his nightmare to relive, and he didn't want to have to listen to the physicist's hypochondria. Then he cast another look at his friend, seeing the way McKay's eyes refused to lock on to anyone else's, the way his hands fiddled nervously with the straps of his vest.

They had stumbled out of the tank to find themselves in the desert, a helicopter cooling in the sands behind them. McKay had been kneeling in the dirt a few meters away, muttering under his breath and apparently oblivious to their approach.

Guessing what had happened hadn't been hard. Trapped in the room, Sheppard had heard the panic and frustration in the scientist's voice, and although he knew that the loss of knowledge was only temporary, he was not naïve enough to think that it made a difference.

He hadn't shared what McKay had seen, but he could be certain that, for him, it was real enough.

"We should head to the village," he said, breaking out into a stride. Startled, his team followed him, McKay sliding down the loose sand and Ford and Teyla adopting a more practiced, loping gait.

He was trying not to question the position of the chopper, or its proximity to the town ahead. The original mission had involved a two hour trek through the heat, and a tense, close call trying to avoid the rebel look-outs posted at the settlement's border. His memory of events seemed disjointed, holes where details should have been. The game was making it seem easy, but he couldn't shake a deep sense of dread, his stomach roiling in protest.

The tension was shared by his team. Teyla's movement across the desert was elegant, but her gaze continually darted about her, scanning her surroundings for any movement. Ford seemed to have recovered from his return home, but Sheppard could see tightly knotted muscles beneath the younger man's shirt, and a patch of red on his bottom lip where his teeth had drawn blood.

He pulled his gaze away, looking ahead. The town loomed before them, its gray, squat buildings and roads covered in sand. The houses – concrete squares with straw and sacking for roofs – were empty, falling into disuse. The wall of one had been blown away, its innards open to spectators and revealing a torn sofa, tipped over cupboard, an empty bottle of paraffin. Debris littered the road, hollow shells amidst torn scraps of clothing, empty water bottles and crisp packets, and a broken photo frame containing the picture of a bearded man in uniform. They passed what had once been a shop, its contents looted, rotting fruit crushed beneath fallen tables, the sacking roof torn.

On a wall outside, innocuously, someone had placed a stuffed children's toy. A chocolate colored rabbit, its fur rubbed bald in patches, looked out with glass eyes for its missing owner.

Teyla picked it up and cradled it in her hands for a moment, while Sheppard wondered whether anyone was left to come back and claim it.

"This isn't going to be good, is it?" McKay asked, his voice oddly subdued.

He gave a dry, bitter laugh. "Things haven't been so far, have they?"

"I can't keep doing this."

"Then find me another way out," Sheppard shot back, unable to restrain his anger.

McKay flinched.

He winced, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Sorry."

"No, it's… you're right." He heard the scientist sigh heavily. "But I don't know. I keep thinking of Asimov."

"Three rules, right?" Ford asked.

"The purpose of the book was to show how an AI could seem to break the rules given to it without actually doing so. It was an exercise in logic. The situation must be comparable but I can't see the solution."

"Okay," Sheppard allowed, "then we brainstorm."

"We know the Ancients chose to build safeguards into their equipment," Teyla offered. Her feet crunched against a patch of broken glass. "And yet they do not seem to be working here."

McKay shook his head. "We don't know that. The computer may still think it's doing the right thing by the users."

"Then its thinking is wrong," Sheppard pointed out.

The scientist rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Major," he corrected, impishly.

McKay didn't rise to the bait, his forehead furrowed in deep thought, his hands moving expressively in the air before him. "Assuming nothing had changed since the original instructions were input, the computer should behave exactly as it was designed to. So what's different?"

"Power failure," Sheppard supplied. He glanced up an alley to their left, looking for movement and seeing none. They were in a residential area, but he could see shops lining the street ahead.

"Right," the scientist continued. "The computer shut down one section of the network to support others. But it won't allow anyone to leave the game." He shook his head, mumbling snatches of thoughts under his breath. "I don't understand. You jerked out – probably due to the stronger gene – explains why we can't but…"

"Doc," Ford interrupted thoughtfully, "what's the third rule?"

"Huh?"

"You told us the first and the second, but what's the third?"

"Oh." McKay frowned. "Well, if the Major here hadn't interrupted me…" He cut off, his face lighting up, fingers clicking triumphantly. "Oh, yes, of course. I.."

His explanation was interrupted by the distant rattle of machine gun fire. Sheppard was aware of Aiden flinching, of McKay protectively pressing himself against a wall.

"Weapons fire." Teyla glanced at Sheppard, looking concerned. "Is this how events played originally?"

"Yeah," he answered, his fingers closing around the butt of his gun. "Told us where the hide-out was." He didn't mention that the shots had been a warning, punishment for a failed escape attempt, that one man now lay dying as a result.

"Hide-out?" Ford asked.

The village was one of the few remaining strongholds of a fierce pocket of resistance. Its inhabitants had long since fled to the nearest town, or to hide in the surrounding desert, but some remained. Those too weak, too old, or too stubborn to move, eking out an existence in the skeleton of their homes. They survived under the fire of both sides, venturing out rarely, no longer caring that both groups fought in their name.

Sheppard had spent four nights there, having narrowly escaped a crash when his chopper had come down on the village outskirts. He had been rescued by friendly troops, and sheltered by them until his rescue.

A month later he had returned, trying to provide his own rescue to the remaining cluster of those same men. It was here he had defied orders, his team creeping through the abandoned streets and hiding in the doorways of forgotten buildings.

Of the four, Stevenson had never made it back, Jacobs had left on disability, and Sheppard and Allen had both been forced to choose between the air force equivalent of a desk job or early retirement. Allen had taken the latter, dropping a single, apologetic letter to the pilot before cutting off communication entirely.

It was easier, that way.

"We should split up," he announced, casting a glance in the direction of the weapons fire.

Ford stared at him, looking confused. "Sir?"

"The game wants us to play this round together, because that's the way it was the first time." He gave a grim, brittle smile. "I'm not going to give it the satisfaction."

"What happened?" Rodney asked, looking anxiously up and down the street.

"Rescue op turned sour. We were outnumbered."

"Back-up?" Ford asked.

"It wasn't exactly a sanctioned mission, Lieutenant."

"People died," Teyla said, softly.

"Yeah." He looked away, listening intently. The gunfire had stopped, the town was silent. "We got some out."

No one had lied to the review board, and claimed it justified their actions. Four men went in to rescue twelve and only eight returned, in pieces. It was a decision he would make again, repeating his father's mantra, 'you never leave a man behind.' But here, trapped in an artificial re-imagining of events, he started to doubt the validity of his choice.

"I'm not sure splitting up's such a good idea." McKay licked his lips nervously. "As long as we stay together we can ensure we're all experiencing the same thing."

"We tried that last time," Sheppard pointed out dryly, then regretted it when the scientist took a defensive step back, folding his arms across his chest. "Look, if we can't leave this thing then at least we can try and control part of it. Last time my team was here we entered the square as a single unit, and it was an easier target."

"What about safety in numbers?" McKay mumbled.

"What if the computer compensates?" Teyla asked. "Your last attempt to halt the game was not successful."

He flinched at the reminder, forcing his mind away from thoughts of hospitals and disinfectant. "It's worth a shot," he argued, haunted by the memory of Jacobs' screams, and the blank, glazed expression over Stevenson's dead face.

"It's a bad idea," McKay muttered, hugging himself tighter.

He responded without thinking, snapping: "Last I checked, I'm in charge."

The physicist lifted an accusing gaze towards him, and then looked away, snorting and pushing himself away from the wall.

Sheppard turned, ignoring him. "Teyla, Lieutenant. Take this alley and follow it until you come to a wide road. It'll lead you directly to the town square. Keep to the shadows, and be careful." It was easy to fall into a pattern, allowing the words to fall from his lips as though the mission had only been the day before. "Most of the enemy are protecting the border and they're not expecting an ambush. As far as they know, their hostages are assumed dead, and they're not intending to announce otherwise until they become useful."

Ford nodded. Teyla looked unhappy, but acquiesced with a simple tilt of her head.

"Where are they?" Aiden asked.

McKay groaned despairingly, shaking his head. "You're not going along with this, Lieutenant?"

Aiden shrugged, helplessly. "Seems like the right thing to do." He glanced at Teyla. "Doesn't it?"

She frowned, but nodded, slowly. "It seems… right, yes."

"But they're not real!" the scientist protested. "Those men are just constructs of the game, simulations of the people the Major rescued. They're not real, they're not in danger, but we are!"

Sheppard growled, his hand itchy over the gun, torn between the memory of the dead soldiers and the deep rooted imperative that yes, this was real, and he had to act now or more would die. A very small, rational voice in his head tried to repeat that McKay was right, that this was insanity – but another rattle of distant gunfire effectively silenced it. "You stick with me, McKay, and you keep your damn mouth shut, alright?"

McKay, pale, shot him a dark glare, and turned away.

Aiden shifted his weight between his feet. "Sir…"

Sheppard had a flash of Jacobs, eager expression on a young face, too young to end his career in a hospital bed.

"Sir, what's our target?"

He took a deep breath before explaining. "The rebels are holed up in an old cinema with our men as prisoners. There are eight in the building, two on the roof, so we outnumber them, but they've got our weapons. We've got surprise." Then he added: "We can do this, because we did it before."

"But this time you wish to divide us?" Teyla asked, looking concerned. "Major, Doctor McKay raises a valid question. Do you honestly believe that anything we do here will make a difference to our survival?"

_No_, screamed the voice in his head, but the memory of the battle was too fresh, the environment too real. Sheppard remembered the way his uniform had been caked with blood and sand, the look of amazement and relief on the hostage's faces when his team had arrived for them.

"It gives us control," he replied, tightly. "You have your orders, Lieutenant."

A myriad of emotions crossed Aiden's face, before the younger man closed them all down, and stiffly drew himself to attention. "Yes, sir." He moved into the alley, Teyla beside him, but paused for a moment, his control wavering. "See you in the next game, I guess?"

Sheppard wanted to close his eyes and hide from Ford's fear, and Teyla's reproach. "Sooner than that," he replied, with faux confidence.

Ford nodded, then disappeared down the alley. Teyla followed, their two figures melting into the long shadows.

Pausing to glance at McKay, Sheppard took a left turn and started trotting quickly down a street, not waiting to see if the scientist followed.

He knew he wasn't alone from the puffing, and the muttered, "bad, bad idea," from behind him.

"Change the record, McKay," he shot back, concentrating on the road.

"No," his friend hissed back, "I won't. You realize they're as good as dead?"

Sheppard clenched his jaw and ground out: "Nobody dies in here."

"You know what I mean!"

They pulled up into the shadow thrown by an imposing two storey apartment block. A large, battered Coca Cola sign covered one wall, its colors faded in the sunlight. McKay looked around the empty street, twitching at any sign of movement, at every flutter of sacking or blown swirl of sand.

Sighing, Sheppard told him: "Relax. There's no danger."

"No?" Rodney glared at him. "Less than ten minutes ago I thought you were all dead! And I know, I know that isn't possible, I know all the computer can do is drive us insane, not kill us – but it can mess with our heads, make us forget where we are." His breath was coming quick and fast, his voice rising in volume. "Or do you think it's fun, being repeatedly tricked into thinking all your friends are dead, and that you're the one who killed them!"

Sheppard shook his head, repressing a pang of sympathy for the scientist. He had heard the terror in McKay's voice, although he couldn't see him from the tank, he could guess at how much his friend had panicked thinking his genius had deserted him at the one moment he needed it the most.

But McKay had lost control, he told himself, and this was his attempt at getting it back. The game couldn't take everything from them, he wouldn't let it.

There was a long, tense silence. McKay broke it quietly.

"The characters we're playing, they're all dead, aren't they?"

He grimaced at the words. "They're not characters, this isn't a movie. They were my friends."

"And how many of them died?" McKay pressed. "Even if we split up, we can't change the rules of the game. So you tell me Major, what do you think will happen?"

A burst of static from his earpiece answered the question.

"_Major, Doctor McKay, please respond!"_

Sheppard slapped a hand to his radio. "We're here, Teyla. What's going on?"

"_We were spotted by the enemy when we entered the central square, Major."_ She sounded breathless, and Sheppard could hear a thumping noise, and guessed she was running. _"There are four men on the roof of the cinema and another two on the building opposite. They are all armed. Lieutenant Ford is…"_

There was a pause, and the distant sound of a scream, and the thud of a body hitting the dirt.

McKay looked like he was going to throw up.

"_Lieutenant Ford has disabled one of the gunmen,"_ Teyla continued. _"But we are still under fire. What should we do?"_

McKay looked up at Sheppard, his eyes wide. "Tell them to retreat, before one of them is killed!"

John looked through him, thinking of the smell of the cinema, of the pervading scent of crushed sugar over the rich copper tang of blood. Then he was moving, running down the street, a surprised McKay following him. "Hold on, Teyla. See if you can get around to the back of the cinema, there's a sloping roof which will protect you from enemy fire."

"What?" McKay demanded, panting, struggling to keep up. "What are you doing? Tell them to get out of there!"

He shook his head, his thinking muddled, struggling to hear McKay's words. "This is what we do, McKay, this is what soldiers do! We don't leave men behind!"

"They're not real!" the scientist repeated, pleadingly. "Dammit, Major, the computer is in your head, making you think that this matters but it doesn't! Don't put them through this!"

"_Major!" _Ford sounded distant, his voice strained. _"I've taken out two of the men sir, but the rebels know we're here. I don't know how we're going to get into the building without…"_

"I'm coming," he interrupted, his legs pounding against the ground. "You and Teyla stay close to the cinema and keep out of their angle. They're not used to those weapons, they're bad aims."

"_Major, we will not be able to get inside." _Teyla paused, and the sound of alarmed shouts and gun shots came loud over the radio. _"We must abandon our position!"_

"Stand your ground!" he ordered, desperate, willing his legs to move faster, to drive him to the square. But the road stretched out before him, the buildings morphing and shifting before his eyes, the sand dragging his feet down. His muscles started to burn with the effort, sweat dripping down his back, the sun's heat burning the back of his neck. McKay was lagging, constantly wiping his forehead with his free hand whilst the other clutched at his gun.

He turned his head towards the direction of the square, one road and a short alley to his right. He could see the white outline of a minaret, towering above the central space. Across from the mosque he could visualize the cinema building, its walls painted a gaudy yellow, its innards torn apart, seats uprooted and curtains torn and hostages – men, good men, soldiers and friends – crouching amidst the wreckage with their hands to their heads and…

"Major!"

McKay grabbed his arm and hauled him around so hard he stumbled. The scientist was a bright pink and panting heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead. He looked at Sheppard with desperation.

"It's a game, Major!"

The world around him seemed to shrink into that moment. The road seemed claustrophobic, the brilliant blue sky a low ceiling above his head, the buildings on either side of the street clustering threateningly close.

The radio exploded with the sound of gunfire, of bullets ricocheting off concrete and metal. It lasted a few seconds, and then fell silent.

McKay was the first to move, his hand shaking as it rose to touch his radio. "Teyla? Lieutenant Ford?"

There was no reply.

Sheppard was frozen, unable to move, listening to McKay repeat the call once, twice, three more times. At the fourth he interrupted. "Stop it."

Rodney turned to look at him, his hand falling from the radio. "But…"

"You were right." He closed his eyes. "But nobody dies in here."

"No." The scientist's voice was barely above a whisper. "Nobody dies. The computer has safeguards to prevent that." He dragged one arm across his eyes and shouted, his voice rough: "I can't keep doing this, Major!"

"They're alright," Sheppard said, softly. "They've just moved onto the next game."

"Game." McKay choked a laugh. "No wonder that Ancient went insane."

He swallowed, his throat feeling gritty and scratched. "I just… I wanted to control part of it."

"You can't."

"No." And he thought of Stevenson, and Jacobs, and Allen, and the men who had fallen during their rescue.

Slowly he lifted his head to look at McKay.

There was a very quiet zipping sound in the air beside his right ear. McKay's expression changed abruptly to one of startled confusion, his eyes growing large and staring in astonishment at Sheppard. Blood blossomed over his forehead from a hole above his left eyebrow.

Then he fell.

Sheppard caught him around the waist and managed to lower the body to the ground awkwardly. He didn't look for a pulse. The entry wound was small, but the exit wasn't. He looked away from the red and gray on the sand and concentrated his gaze on McKay's blue eyes. Glazed and open and staring, just like Stevenson.

Above them, a dark shape moved quickly across a rooftop. Sheppard thought that then, he should have been running, trying to escape. But he didn't, and the shape disappeared, and there were no more quiet zips.

He sat for a long moment, gripping his friend's hand, as blood pooled around the body.

_No wonder that Ancient went insane._

His mind, rebelling against the twisted nightmare it was being forced to experience, decided quite calmly to vacate the area.

Sand swirled around the pair, spun up into miniature tornados by the hot air, picking up the odd scrap of paper or empty packet of chips and carrying it into a strange, alien dance. The sun beat down upon his neck and baked the earth, his eyes closing against its glare.

Not again, he told himself. Distance was easiest, simpler to hide behind a wall of emotional divorce and not be involved. Not to bottle up more grief, and drive it down in an effort to survive. Losing more and more pieces of himself on the battlefield, driving himself forward because he had to, because stopping, just for a second, would get him killed.

And yet here he was, repeating history in a familiar desert.

An explosion rocked the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He could hear footsteps, and knew that the rebels were coming for him, tossing Teyla and Ford and McKay's bodies aside and taking him, using him as another hostage. Using him as an example to the others, a demonstration of failure. Slowly, mechanically, he pulled his hand away from his friend's face, and untangled their fingers. He dragged himself to his feet to scan the battlefield.

"Major?"

A hand touched his shoulder.

Sheppard turned so fast he slipped, landing on his ass painfully, kicking out with his feet to push himself away from the enemy, raising his gun just a second before recognition set in.

Teyla. Ford. Back in the OS. And behind them, McKay, white as a sheet, muscles tensed so tight that a vein could be seen throbbing in his neck.

Sheppard stared at them, frozen to the spot.

"Major." Teyla again, softly. He looked up at her, then back down at the weapon in his hands, and dropped it guiltily.

In a sudden, violent burst of energy McKay pushed past both his teammates to stand over Sheppard, and stretched out his hand. After the briefest hesitation Sheppard reached out and gripped his friend's wrist tightly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Then he stood a few inches away from McKay, staring into his face, drinking it in, gripping the man's warm, and very real arm tightly.

McKay was trembling, his eyes unable to look into Sheppard's, flicking to the ground, his skin as pale as a corpse.

Repulsed, Sheppard pulled away, snatched his hand back and spat onto the floor. "Fuck." Yelled at his shadow: "FUCK!"

"Language," McKay reprimanded, barely audible.

He took a breath, then another, swallowing his fear and grief and rage and pushed it back down for later nightmares and abuse on the walls of Atlantis. Turning, he offered his team his best smile, weak as dishwater.

"Sorry. Maybe I should start a swear box, huh?"

"You and Zelenka both. I found a dictionary in the linguist's lab and it turns out his mouth is a lot more poetic when he's speaking Czech."

McKay received a feeble chuckle for his trouble. Turning away, Sheppard raked a hand through his hair fiercely, released a shudder.

"We have to get out of here. Before I go nuts."


	18. Reason

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! You have no idea how much they mean. And as for Aurora... Brad Wright, if you're listening, I'll forego suing you if you'll make me a staff writer? No? Freelance? Pretty please? What about the coffee girl?..._

_Oh well. It was good episode though. And didn't McKay and Sheppard look mighty fine in those uniforms!_

Chapter Eighteen - Reason

They were back in the white space of earlier. McKay still looked shaken, but his fear seemed mixed with anger, and he paced a small spot on the floor, muttering fiercely beneath his breath. Teyla and Ford stood together, seeming pale and nervous, and Sheppard found himself repeatedly looking in their direction, confirming to his confused mind that they were still alive.

"Sorry," he offered, weakly.

Teyla lifted her gaze to him and shook her head. "That was not your fault."

"We shouldn't have split up."

"It wouldn't have made any difference," McKay said, sounding exhausted. "The outcome would have been the same, the computer makes sure of that."

"Why?" Ford demanded. "I don't get it. One minute we're walking down a street in Afghanistan and the next…" He paused, looking distinctly ill.

"There's always a problem," McKay muttered, resuming his pacing. "Damn Ancients couldn't build something that actually works like it's supposed to. Gods are supposed to be infallible. Why the hell anyone thought to worship these morons…"

"McKay," Sheppard interrupted. "Not helping." He scrubbed a hand through his hair roughly, turning away from his team, fighting a sudden desire for privacy.

"I can't keep doing this." Aiden's voice was quiet. "Sorry, sir, but I can't."

"No." He shook his head. "We'll figure this out. I just… need a minute." His throat burned, his fingers twitching spasmodically at his sides. He took several steps forward, giving in to the compulsion to hide, to seek his own space. The white space opened up before him, his feet silent against the invisible floor. Despite the infinite size of the room, he felt claustrophobic, as though slammed into a tiny corner of the space. Tiny and insignificant. He kept walking, struggling to release some of the tension trapped in his chest.

Inevitably, he was followed.

"What was all _that_ about?"

Sheppard turned sharply, and snapped back: "Drop it, McKay."

"No." The scientist tilted his chin up. "I died back there, you'd think that would give me disclosure rights."

"Drop it," he repeated, warningly.

"No." McKay's hand reached out to grab his arm and Sheppard pulled back, violently, sharp enough to see thinly concealed hurt in his friend's eyes.

"You don't get it," Sheppard shot at him, struggling to keep his voice down to a whisper. Twenty meters away Ford was sitting on the floor, Teyla crouched beside him. They seemed not to hear him. "You and Elizabeth, none of you civilians. It's different as a soldier."

"Ford's a –" McKay started, but he waved a hand to cut him off.

"Ford's not old enough to have," he fumbled over the words, and cursed himself, "to have lost a man."

Then Sheppard turned his back, knotting his shoulders, every muscle in his body tense. "A good soldier doesn't make the best human being, McKay."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He took a breath. "It means that I can't think like you, alright? Not me or Bates and not Ford, eventually. If you're to survive, you have to rely on your team, because that's the only real thing that stands between you and the enemy. But that doesn't mean…"

_You form ties, share names. Talk about Dave's family, his girlfriend, what he's gonna call his kids, the last game he watched, give him a nickname, joke about what he'll do when he's back home. Then the next moment you've got Dave's brains all over your hands and you're lucky if there's enough to bring back to bury._

He decided to change tactic, taking another breath and it feeling it hot against his lungs. "Compartmentalize, the first rule of warfare."

McKay was staring at him. Sheppard could feel the other man's eyes on his back but he couldn't bring himself to turn, to face the pity on the scientist's face. "Make up, break up, move on." He echoed the words of his first CO, softly.

There was a short silence, and then McKay spoke, his voice barely audible. "Wipe down the blood and forget about it, right?" Then his tone shifted, became hard and coldly angry. "Because I wouldn't know a thing about that."

Sheppard still couldn't face him, finding great fascination with the floor.

"It's not like Gaul and Abrams counted."

He cursed inwardly, and looked up to find McKay hatefully glaring at him.

"The martyr complex is getting real old, Major. Pretty damn selfish too."

Sheppard struggled for a moment, still seeing McKay's lifeless eyes staring up at him, still feeling his friend's warm blood soak his pant legs. Rodney glared at him, hatefully…

Deservedly, he thought.

"Bastard."

He flinched, and corrected himself. _Okay, maybe he's not entirely just angry with me._

McKay was still glaring at him, as though daring a response. Sheppard considered the s-word, the pithy apology, but suspected had he voiced it, it might result in a fist, and he wouldn't be able to assign blame.

So he deflated. "Yeah. Quite probably." Then added: "I can think of a whole host of other names too, if you want. And I'm sure you can add a few in Ancient."

The physicist pulled back a little, some of the rage dissipating into confusion. "Major…" He paused, then continued in a rush: "Don't assume that the color of your uniform picks you out of the crowd. It doesn't."

"Never said it did," Sheppard objected, petulantly, but he was ignored.

"Everyone in Atlantis is in the same position."

That little fortune cookie surprised him. "You figure that out?"

McKay shrugged, sheepishly. "Elizabeth, actually." He flicked his gaze up to meet his friend's. "More astute than you are."

"Wouldn't take much effort," Sheppard joked, but McKay didn't rise to it, and he sobered quickly. "So I'm not alone in the boat."

"No. It's pretty crowded, actually."

"Right." He glanced again at Ford and Teyla, sat watching them from a distance, nervously. "I never, ah, Gaul… you're okay?"

"I'm compartmentalizing," the scientist responded, tightly.

Sheppard released a snorted laugh. "We should write a guide book."

"It'd be an Atlantean best seller."

"Heightmeyer would kill us," he added.

"Still less painful." McKay looked at him for a moment, then turned away, moving back to Ford and Teyla.

"Major." Teyla looked towards them, her face full of concern. "You are alright?"

"Yeah. Just want an end to this, that's all."

"Me too," Ford muttered, weakly.

Sheppard followed McKay, watching him closely and feeling hopeful. "You got a way out of here?"

His friend tensed, clearly having flashbacks of his own. "Don't…" McKay took a deep breath, clearly forcing himself to uncoil. "I need more information, Major. Despite what you might think, I'm not a miracle worker."

He nudged the scientist gently in the ribs. "You'll figure it out."

"Maybe."

His voice held a note of uncertainty that pained Sheppard. Taking a deep breath, and forcing the sound of weapons fire out of his head, he asked: "What's the third rule, McKay?"

Rodney's head shot up. "What?"

"Before we…" He paused, and corrected himself: "Before, when we were talking about what might have caused the computer to act like this, you mentioned the third rule."

McKay shook his head, looking muddled. "I don't remember."

He growled, taking a step forward. "Dammit, McKay, you were practically shouting eureka! Something about the power failure, and not being able to leave."

"Try, Doctor McKay," Teyla said, softly.

For a second he saw only confusion in the scientist's eyes, but this cleared after a moment, McKay's expression lifting. "A robot must protect itself so long as it does not contradict the first or second law."

Ford looked as blank as Sheppard felt. "What?"

"The computer is designed to protect itself." He clicked his fingers rapidly, gesturing at the air. "It sustains and protects itself as long as it doesn't put the lives of the occupants at risk."

Sheppard shook his head, feeling no more enlightened. "McKay, English please?"

The scientist gave an infuriated sigh. "The AI is designed to learn from the memories of the people in it, to design new scenarios. Through them, it learns everything." He paused, pointedly, but when there were no responses he continued irritably: "That includes what will happen when the time comes for the players to wake up."

"The game will end," Ford said, frowning.

"And the computer will have fulfilled its purpose. There won't be a need for it anymore, it will be shut down, dismantled, used for spare parts. But," he lifted a finger, "the computer has been programmed to protect itself. No matter what."

"So it traps people within it?" Teyla asked. "Does that not contravene the first law, the fail safe?"

Sheppard was beginning to feel a sense of dread. "But as long as they're in the game, they're safe. They're still alive."

"Exactly." McKay grinned triumphantly. "The reason the computer won't allow anyone to exit the game is because it knows when it does, it will have served its purpose and be switched off. Permanently."

"So the system's gone haywire?" Ford asked.

"No. It's behaving exactly as it was programmed to do; protect the players, obey the instructions, and sustain itself." The physicist pulled his face into a look of disgust. "Of course, given that the system is no more refined than a pocket calculator, it can't cope with any new problems, like the power crisis. So the only way to…"

He cut off abruptly, taking a step back and closing his eyes, screwing up his face in an intense look of concentration. Confused, Sheppard blinked for several seconds, watching McKay stand perfectly still and mutter to himself.

"Uh, Rodney?"

"I'm thinking," came back the terse response.

"I can see that," he drawled, "but care to let us in?"

The scientist opened his eyes and glared at Sheppard. "You've got the strongest gene, that's why you're the only one who can pull out of the game and return us to the OS. Call up the guide."

"I thought he was a pocket calculator?"

McKay rolled his eyes. "Yes, he is, but he's still useful. Just do it, alright?"

Sheppard shrugged, and thought _'menu.'_

There was a very quiet crackle, like the fizz of static, and then a dot appeared on the horizon. Sheppard blinked, and it disappeared, only to reappear a second later as the guide, fully sized and dressed in the same cream robes as earlier. It even had the same beatific smile fixed on its face.

"Greetings." The guide dipped his head in greeting, his hands clasped together. "You wish to change a playing option?"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow skeptically. "We've tried this before, McKay."

"I know that," the scientist snapped, "but we weren't using the proper language." He turned to the hologram. "What was your intended purpose?"

"The game was designed to entertain the players during their sleep. By using the memories of the participants…"

"Right, right. But we're not asleep."

The entity blinked slowly. "You are in the game."

McKay huffed, exasperated. "We know that. Look, there are many ways in which a person can play, right? As an individual, or as part of a group. But the stasis chambers aren't interconnected, are they?"

The guide shook his head. "Each capsule provides a single environment for its occupant."

"But there are rooms in which a group can play together?"

"Yes. Up to eight people can share the same space. They are placed into an artificial state of sleep. The room then generates a complex wave form of…"

"Yes," McKay interrupted quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "We know."

Ford looked from the scientist to the hologram. "Doc, no offence, but shouldn't we find out how the Ancients did it?"

"It's not important."

"It _seems_ pretty important," Sheppard said, pointedly.

McKay glared at him. "Look, Major, you said you wanted out of here, well I'm trying to do just that, but the process would be a hell of a lot quicker if you'd keep your dumber comments to yourself, alright?"

Sheppard opened his mouth to snap back, but the scientist had already turned his attention back to the hologram.

"The group rooms, do they have any life-support?"

The hologram frowned. "They are connected to the outpost's supply of fresh oxygen and…"

"Not what I mean," McKay interrupted. "Dammit, you'd think the Ancients could have programmed you with better language skills than a Labrador. _Look_, are the lives of the players within a game room sustained longer than they would be usually? Are they kept in a prolonged state of hibernation, like the individual chambers keep their occupants?"

Sheppard watched McKay's interrogation of the hologram intensely, his brief anger forgotten, starting to feel a glimmer of hope.

"No," the guide stated. "Only the sleeping chambers can sustain a player's life."

"So," McKay said, clearly frustrated at having to speak so slowly when he was on the cusp of achieving his goal, "what happens when a player, when a _group_ of players is trapped in a game without the support of a sleeping chamber?"

The guide smiled stupidly. "That is not possible."

"It is," Teyla said, firmly. "We entered the game in such a manner."

"That is not possible," it repeated.

"Yes," Sheppard snapped angrily, taking a step forward. "It is. Check your sensors, your records, whatever the hell you use to keep track of things outside of here! Something's gone wrong and we are trapped, whether you choose to believe it or not!"

The guide frowned, its visage flickering briefly. Sheppard watched its reaction closely, curling his hands into fists and fighting the urge to throttle the smug smile out of the hologram.

"Well?"

It lifted its head and blinked. "You are in the group gaming room."

"Thank you!" McKay crowed, throwing up his hands. "Finally we have progress."

"Your lives are not being sustained."

"No," Ford said, deliberately, "they're not."

"Our physical forms lie in the room waiting for us," Teyla explained.

"And they'll die if we don't wake up," McKay added. "We'll die. No food, no water - we'll starve to death in days. Our bodies need all those things!"

"The lives of the players must be sustained."

"Not to mention that I drank a lot of coffee this morning and I imagine that my body really needs to go…"

"He gets it," Sheppard interrupted quickly, with a grimace. He studied the hologram. "You do, right?"

The smile had finally vanished from the guide's face, and had been replaced by an odd, slightly quizzical expression. "You are in the group gaming room. Your bodies are not being sustained."

"Right." McKay took a deep breath. "So you have to let us out of here."

"You must finish the game to…"

"Then let us finish!" Sheppard shot back. "Take us to the last level, whatever the hell you have to do to beat this thing!"

Ford visibly paled, glancing back towards his CO. "With all due respect sir, are you sure?"

"The final level will be…" Teyla hesitated. "It will not be pleasant."

"Neither is this," Sheppard responded, grimly. "If this is the only way to end this without risking the game killing us, then I think we should do it."

McKay winced, but admitted: "I agree. I'd rather get this over with than be stuck here indefinitely while my body starves to death."

"You wish to skip to the final level?" the guide asked, politely.

"Yes."

It seemed to hesitate, the first real sign of confusion since it had first appeared to greet them. "You will leave the game."

"It's either that or we die," McKay said, simply. "But you're designed to protect the players."

"Yes…"

"So protect us."

The hologram flickered again, then nodded. "You will begin the final level."

"Group playing," Sheppard said, quickly.

"As a group," it agreed. "If any of the players fail the level then the whole group will be returned to its previous position within the game."

"We've got it," Ford said, although he sounded less than confident, glancing nervously between the hologram and his teammates.

"Very well." The guide pressed his hands together and bowed slightly from the waist. "Then you can begin."

And it disappeared.


	19. Crazy Things to Do

_A/N: Thank you for all the feedback, you're all amazing! I was tempted to put a gorilla in this chapter, but decided to save that for another time. I am entertaining myself with the idea of McKay, Ford and Sheppard all wearing swimming trunks however... mm._

Chapter Nineteen - Crazy Things To Do

They stood upon rock, a great gray slab of mountain starting far below their feet and reaching up to disappear into the thick and heavy clouds above. The air was dense and wet, making each breath uncomfortable, driving moisture into the lungs. The stone was slippery and shiny in the damp. Thunder rumbled overhead, threatening further rain. A powerful, icy wind rattled across the landscape and crept beneath the thick, military issue uniform, making Sheppard shiver.

The ledge was small but flat, and large enough to accommodate all four team members. Ford, stood at the far right, was leaning forward slightly, looking down over the edge. A sharp, sudden increase in the wind buffeted him, his jacket billowing and he ducked back, his face pale.

"It's a long way down, sir."

Sheppard frowned deeply, rubbing cold hands together. "Where are we?"

Teyla tilted her head back to look up at the mountain behind her. Her hair hung thick and damp about her face. "I do not recognize this place."

"Me either."

"I don't think it does exist." McKay stood as far away from the edge as he could without becoming part of the cliff, his arms hugging his chest tightly. "It's a group game. The computer wants it to be a level playing field."

"So…" Ford paused, turning to look up at the cliff. "Are we supposed to climb it?"

Smooth and featureless, the mountain shot straight up into the cloud with no offer of hand holds or creases with which to ascend it. If Sheppard looked closely, he could almost see his reflection in its polished surface.

"We cannot climb," Teyla said, softly.

"So how do we get down?"

Sheppard turned back to the ledge. Below his feet lay a steep slope, and between the low-hanging cloud cover he could make out jagged, lethal looking points of rock, wet and shiny in the rain. The base of the mountain was completely obscured by cloud, a roiling mass of gray and black that seethed beneath them.

Realization dawned suddenly, and he tasted bile. "I think we jump," he announced, with a grimace.

McKay stared at him in horror. "You can't be serious. We'll be killed!"

"No," he replied, staring down at the drop. "Nobody dies in the game, remember, McKay?"

"That was just a theory," the physicist snapped back. "You don't know what effect this might have."

"We have all died in the game before," Teyla pointed out. Her voice was unusually quiet, barely audible over the wind. "No harm has yet come to us."

"Yet," McKay persisted. He backed further away from the ledge, his boots scuffing the rock beneath them. "I'm not about to risk my life on guesswork."

"We know the Ancients build safeguards into their equipment."

"But we don't know they're working," he retorted. "And we have no clue as to what this final level consists of."

"This was your idea," Sheppard snapped. Rain water ran down his neck and collar, making him shiver.

Ford shifted nervously, moving his weight from foot to foot. "Major, what if he's right? What if the final level of the game is death?"

"The guide said the aim of the game was to protect the players," he replied, trying to instill confidence into his voice. "It won't kill us. Besides, if that was even a possibility, don't you think some of the other players might have deliberately picked it? They've not been hanging on for the past ten thousand years in the hope of a rescue!"

"But if this does provide the exit, why have none of the Ancients in the game discovered it?" Teyla asked.

"Because they're being kept alive by the stasis chambers," McKay replied, miserably. "We're the only ones in a group playing room, that's why we were able to convince the computer to let us this far."

"It's playing by the rules," Sheppard pointed out. "And it hasn't lied to us."

"It can't." The scientist's hands crept behind his back and flattened themselves palm first against the cliff face. "It's not sophisticated enough."

"And if it were to kill us…" Teyla hesitated, "I would prefer this, than sharing the experience of the Ancients."

Sheppard flinched, remembering the screams of the Ancient woman who had tried to throttle him back in the room of stasis chambers. He caught a flash of red and gray against gold in the back of his mind's eye and shuddered, convulsively.

"We're not at that place," Aiden argued, his voice tight. "Are we?"

"No," he shot back, fiercely. "We're not. I think this provides us with a chance of escape. Believe me, I'm not thrilled with the idea of jumping either, but if McKay here is right, then we may have little choice. It's either that or die."

Aiden lowered his eyes briefly, then lifted them to look up at the scientist. "Doc, you're sure about what you said before? If a rescue team wakes us up, it could kill us?"

"It's a theory." Rodney's face was pasty white, his expression a mix of resignation and depressed fear, his eyes unusually dark and bleak. "But, ah, y'know, I've got lots of theories."

"McKay," Sheppard warned.

"Alright," the physicist snapped. "Yes. If someone from the outside interferes with the system it could easily cause a power surge that would make us look like the Colonel's Extra Crispy. If we don't get out of the chamber our bodies will die without food or water." He huffed. "Meaningless for me, I suspect, since my body is probably already in a hypoglycemic coma…"

"There's a chance Zelenka and the others could work out how to get us out of here, though, right?" Aiden pressed.

"Maybe." McKay pulled a face. "A slightly smaller possibility than the one involving the Major being right, that the only way to win the game is to kill ourselves on a suicide stunt." He ventured a quick glance towards the drop, and gulped. "I'm not sure I can do it, though."

"Oh come on, McKay," Sheppard jibed, weakly. "Everyone's afraid of heights. We're all feeling the same."

"It's not the height I'm afraid of," he shot back, "it's the part where my body is ripped to bloody pieces!"

"I am also afraid," Teyla admitted, softly. "But I do not wish to continue this game. I …" She paused, and dropped her head. "I will not go on doing this."

"No." McKay's voice dropped to a whisper, and he lifted one shaky hand from the rock to rub his eyes. "I know."

"Perhaps if we can avoid concentrating on the fall…" she suggested.

"That's exactly all I _can_ concentrate on!" McKay's voice squeaked. "Throwing myself off cliffs – it's just not something my brain will allow me to do! Its sense of self-preservation is too damn healthy!"

Aiden pushed his weight onto the balls of his feet and leant forward a fraction, looking over the edge. "I know I don't want to play the game anymore but…" he paused. "This is the only way out?"

"The surest way," Sheppard stated, imitating certainty for the sake of his team.

"I cannot keep doing this," Teyla declared. She straightened, brushing wet hair from her face, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin defiantly. "If this is what we have to do to escape, then we do it."

"You volunteering to go first?" McKay asked, nervously.

"If needs be." She took several steps back from the edge, her body taut.

"Teyla, I should go first."

She glanced at Sheppard, shaking her head. "It is fine, Major. I am ready to do this. Besides…" She paused, her eyes flicking briefly towards McKay.

"A captain goes down with his ship." He released a hiss of air through his lips. "Or Major, in this case."

"I will be fine."

"Yeah." He hesitated, his mind running over other possibilities, other outcomes, and finding nothing. Teyla watched him, her expression curiously calm, until he gave up and finished, lamely: "I'll see you back on the outpost."

She gave a determined nod, then closed her eyes and took four long, strong strides up to and over the edge. She was graceful even in her fall, tucking her arms into her chest before disappearing.

Finding it impossible to breathe, Sheppard lunged forward, aware of Ford doing the same. Hanging over the edge he caught a glimpse of Teyla's shadow, growing smaller frighteningly fast, before it was swallowed up by the dense cloud below.

Sheppard strained, but heard nothing. Teyla never made a sound.

"Oh god, oh god." McKay was pressed hard against the cliff, as though desperate to disappear into it.

"It's alright," Sheppard said, fervently. "The computer won't let her die. She'll be okay."

_Let her be okay._

"Right." Aiden shrugged, looking gray and sickly. "She made it look easy. I guess, ah, I'll go next, huh?" He glanced towards McKay, but the scientist had his head bowed and seemed oblivious to everything, muttering incoherently under his breath.

"Look, Lieutenant…" Sheppard paused, looking at his young – too goddamn young – second-in-command. Aiden was barely restraining his panic, his body tense and jittery, biting down on his lower lip and bringing forth fresh blood. His eyes were dark and determined, and Sheppard felt a rush of pride, before a sense of dread responsibility weighed him down.

"This will work," he told the Lieutenant, mustering all the strength and faith he could. "Piece of cake."

"Right." Aiden took a deep breath. "The Ancients always built safeguards."

"Exactly."

The younger man nodded, eyeing the ledge apprehensively. He took several steps backwards. "Just like base jumping," he said, simply, then closed his eyes, gulped, and ran.

Again Sheppard had to restrain himself from snatching at Aiden, from grabbing him and pulling him away from the edge. In a matter of seconds the lieutenant was gone, absorbed silently by the dark.

"Safeguards," he heard McKay mutter, softly. "Right."

He turned quickly, rounding on the frightened scientist. "They're fine," he insisted, desperately. "You know that McKay, you did the math. And as you keep telling us, you're always right."

A pair of pale blue eyes cracked open and peered at him. "That's true."

"Unless," Sheppard needled, "you're wrong."

"No." The scientist unfolded from the rock, pushing himself forward a fraction. "But it isn't that simple."

"No," he challenged. "Seems that way to me."

"Don't you get it?" McKay snapped. "The computer controls everything we see and hear, messing about in our heads any way it damn well pleases. It doesn't know what it's doing. If it wants to torment us by resurrecting every damn nightmare then it can, and we have no way of knowing what's real and what isn't. God, I don't even know if _you're_ real!"

"McKay…"

"What if you're just part of the simulation? I mean, I thought it was Jeannie, but it couldn't have been, so how do I know you're not the same? That you're not just the computer that – ow!"

Sheppard removed his fingers from the scientist's fleshy arm and gave a macabre grin. "Real enough?"

Looking aggrieved, McKay rubbed his arm fiercely. "That wasn't necessary!"

He turned, looking towards the edge, sobering quickly. "You're going over, McKay."

"No. You can go. I'm quite happy staying right here."

"We both go or we both stay here."

"Emotional blackmail won't work."

"McKay."

Rodney dipped his head. Wind rattled around the pair, thunder rumbling overhead.

"Fine," he said eventually, his voice very quiet. "I always knew you had a Messiah complex."

Sheppard latched his hand around the scientist's sleeve and tugged him forward, feeling McKay resist every step. The rain strengthened, his uniform soaked through, his boots sliding slightly on the smooth rocky ground. After several staggering strides they both stood on the edge. Sheppard peered over, wishing he could be sure of his decision. Beside him, McKay squirmed, his eyes scrunched shut.

"This is insane."

"Probably," he agreed. "About the same as revisiting Afghanistan, or reliving Rodney McKay's School Days."

"Right." The scientist shivered. "If I ever meet an Ancient then I want answers. All their damn technology and it always goes wrong."

"You won't be the only one."

"No." McKay cracked open one eye and peered at the expanse below them. "So how do we…"

Sheppard didn't allow him a chance to finish. Taking a quick, snatched breath he strengthened his grip on McKay's arm and took a leap forward, pushing himself away from the edge as far as possible whilst dragging his friend with him. He heard McKay yelp, and released his hold on the man to pull his arms to his chest in imitation of Teyla, aware of the air around him and the brief, exhilarating sensation of flight.

Then they fell. The wind whistled in his ears, the cloud thick and suffocating, the air snatched from his lungs, a pressure building in his chest as he fell, the cliff and rock and ground nothing but fleeting shadows and smudges of darkness rolling and mingling in a dizzying array of colors. Then something opened up before him, a glimpse of something white beneath the cloud, coming up towards him terrifyingly fast. Sheppard barely had time to pull his arms over his head in a futile effort of protection before his body hit the thing and all breath was knocked from him.

Miraculously, the impact didn't kill him.

For several seconds he lay with his eyes closed, mentally examining his body and testing it for any injury. Deciding he was unharmed, he ventured opening his eyes.

Teyla's face hovered above him, her expression of worry giving way to one of intense relief. "Major. You're alright?"

He didn't answer for a second, drinking in her appearance, her healthy, if a little pale face and uninjured body. "You're okay."

She gave a small smile. "Yes, as is Lieutenant Ford. Are you?"

"Yeah." He blinked, cautiously. "I think so. For someone who just jumped off a cliff."

"You pushed me!"

He frowned, slowly turning his head to see McKay sat on the floor several meters away, an accusing look on his face. "You didn't look like you were going to jump any time soon."

"I just needed a minute!" the scientist protested.

"Right. Sure you did." Cautiously, Shepard pushed himself into a sitting position and started to take in his surroundings. The floors and the walls were white, and scored with black lines in a grid pattern. A stone bench ran across the wall behind his head, and a darkened window overlooked the back of the room. Thin, fading tendrils of white mist were evaporating into the air.

A grin spread across his face, and he felt giddy with relief. "We're in the outpost."

"It worked," Aiden said, crouching beside McKay. His eyes seemed bright, the tension and fear having fled and been replaced by an odd, stilted adrenaline rush. "But that was one hell of a trip."

"Not one I intend to repeat," Sheppard said, dryly.

McKay pulled himself upright, his hands patting himself down quickly. "Amazing I didn't break anything," he muttered.

"It wasn't a real cliff," Aiden pointed out, but he was ignored.

"Have you tried the door?"

"It would not open for us." Teyla glanced towards the exit. "We believe because you and Doctor McKay were still in the game."

Staggering slightly, McKay made his way across to the door, slapping his hand against the control panel. It slid aside promptly, revealing the corridor beyond. "Oh, thank god." He sagged slightly against the wall.

Sheppard stood up, shrugging off Teyla's help. "Come on," he said, picking up his pack. "What say we get out of this funhouse, huh?"

* * *

_A/N: Phew, it's all over! Right...?_


	20. Home Again, Home Again

Chapter Twenty - Home Again, Home Again

The team stepped through the Stargate to face a visibly nervous Weir, running lightly down the steps to meet them. Peter Grodin watched them from the balcony, looking relieved, his hands moving across the control console to shut down the wormhole.

It immediately activated a second later, its chevrons lighting up one by one. Alarmed, Sheppard turned to the 'gate, only for Elizabeth to call out to him.

"It's alright, Major." She gave them an assessing look. "You're alright? You're nearly four hours overdue. We were starting to get worried."

"Long story," Sheppard breathed, looking around the gate room. He counted a dozen men in the shadows of the space, all of them armed and two carrying Wraith stunners. Several crates and a trolley hidden under boxes stood in one corner. The soldiers seemed twitchy, holding themselves at stiff attention, their gaze darting about the room. Up on the balcony, Bates had appeared over Peter's shoulder, his face stony, his eyes trained upon the returning team. "What's going on?"

Elizabeth winced, turning away. "We should talk in my office," she muttered tightly, causing a spark of fear to ignite itself in Sheppard's stomach. Her hand reached up to tap her radio. "Dr Zelenka, Dr Beckett, I need you both in the conference room."

"What's happening?" McKay demanded, trotting alongside Elizabeth.

She didn't answer him, glancing over her shoulder at the team. "You're uninjured?"

"Yeah." Sheppard paused, exchanging a confused glance with Teyla and Ford. Elizabeth seemed oddly detached, her relief at their return tempered by something he couldn't pinpoint. Her shoulders were knotted beneath the thin cloth of her shirt, her jaw was clenched tight, her eyes dark and…

She was scared, he realized, feeling nauseous. Hiding it well, to the untrained eye - but he knew her too well, and could she was afraid, and desperate.

They ascended the stairs quickly, Sheppard keeping astride with Weir and McKay, Teyla and Ford bringing up the rear. They were quiet, conscious of the strange atmosphere of tension, and the sound of the Stargate blooming into life behind them. Zelenka and Carson appeared together from the top corridor, the Czech carrying a laptop, and the pair dropped down several steps to follow the group into the conference room.

"Elizabeth," Sheppard pressed, firmly.

She didn't answer, moving around the large table to its head, and beckoning the others to follow. She waited until last before taking her seat, straight backed and tense, her arms resting lightly on the table top.

Sheppard felt wired, apprehensive, seeing the way Weir's fear was reflected by Zelenka and Beckett. The Scot was hiding it poorly, wringing his hands in a subconscious display of nerves, whilst Radek seemed even scruffier and more tired than usual. After being released from the game Sheppard's adrenaline spike had faded, and now he felt on edge and jittery. The feeling wasn't soothed when Elizabeth shut all the doors, effectively sealing the room and its inhabitants off from the rest of the city.

"How was the mission?" Elizabeth asked. It sounded formal, as though she were going through a ritual, than the easy question of a friend and leader. "Did you find anything useful?"

Sheppard glanced at McKay, sat opposite, and answered first.

"An outdated computer with abandonment issues. Several hundred Ancients in stasis but none of them sane enough to answer any questions."

"Several hundred?" Zelenka squeaked.

"Yeah, but," Sheppard hesitated, "even if we could wake them, I'm not sure we'd want to." He was aware of Ford shifting uncomfortably in his seat, of a look of guilt flashing across the young Lieutenant's face. "The only one we woke tried to kill me."

He looked towards Elizabeth, expecting to see a spark of interest, but her face was shuttered and dark.

"What about a power source? A ZPM?"

"The one powering the station was depleted," McKay explained, sounding apologetic. "Even more so than the one here. There's the remote possibility of a spare, but I'm not sure we could access it."

Zelenka leaned forward, his haste betraying a sense of desperation. "What happened?"

"We stumbled into a virtual reality situation the Ancients had been using as entertainment." McKay's lip curled. "It wasn't, particularly."

"It was distressing," Teyla admitted, "and proved difficult to escape."

"You're alright?" Carson asked, shooting them a concerned look.

"Yeah." Sheppard shrugged, though he couldn't feel so casual. "Relived a couple of old nightmares but no permanent harm done." He paused, unable to subdue a flicker of doubt. His team looked away, Ford pale and intent upon the table top, Teyla fixing her gaze on the wall, and McKay picking at the skin on his finger tips.

"You say the ZPM was depleted?"

"Atlantis is a Duracell bunny compare to this one," McKay replied, without looking up. "The entire system was on the verge of collapse. There was barely enough power to dial up the Stargate to come back here." He lifted his head, and looked across to Zelenka. "What's going on?"

The Czech winced, and dropped his gaze.

"The Wraith," Weir said, quietly. "Dr Ashcroft was doing a routine check on the jumpers when one of them picked up their approach on its sensors. Four hive ships are headed straight here."

Sheppard had to restrain himself from leaping up, his mind recoiling from the idea. "How long?"

"A little under forty minutes."

There was a long, stunned silence.

"I'm sorry, John." Elizabeth looked up from her folded hands, looking tired and resigned. "I wish I could give your team a breather before…" She broke off.

He felt cold, his hands and feet strangely numb. "What's the plan?"

Her gaze drifted to a spot over his right shoulder. "As you know, Major, we still haven't picked an official Alpha site. Peter selected the best from the shortlist we have, M4J-492, and we've already started sending through as many people and as much equipment as we can organize."

He ran through the list in his head quickly, and picked up on the designation. "M4J-492? We've barely explored a fraction of that planet, we have no idea what's there!"

"We know there is plenty of fresh water, fertile land, and it has a seemingly stable geology." Her eyes dipped briefly. "Please understand, Major, we've known of the Wraith's arrival for barely longer than you have, and," her tone became more pointed, "every minute counts. We can't afford to be picky."

"Right." He huffed softly, feeling frustrated.

"What of my people?" Teyla asked, concerned.

"We're shuttling as many as we can from the mainland," Carson explained. "But some of your hunters are proving hard to track down, lass."

The Athosian's eyes darkened, and her head lowered. "They will travel for a great distance over several days." She paused. "I know you are doing your best."

The physician nodded, looking older than he had since Hoff, scrubbing a hand across his face. "It's not enough."

"I was hoping," Elizabeth interrupted, "that some of your people might be willing to fight alongside us, Teyla. I realize that this isn't their home but…"

She nodded. "You will have many volunteers, Dr Weir."

"Thank you."

"Um, ma'am?" Ford placed his hands on the table top, then pulled them away with a flush of self-conscious nerves. "Can I ask what our aim is?"

Weir sighed deeply, and Sheppard caught a glimpse of immense grief and heart break. "We defend the city for as long as we can, to get the most people to safety. Then we destroy it."

Sheppard flinched, as though for a second he shared Atlantis' pain. "To protect Earth."

"Yes." She paused, clearly at a loss for words.

McKay looked over to Zelenka. "I take it you haven't had any moments of inspiration while I was away?"

The Czech shook his head sadly. "Only of ways to destroy the city, not to save it. Unless you have ZPM hidden in your jacket?"

Rodney shook his head. "What ideas?"

"We destroy the city stabilizers. We sink the city, quickly." The Czech made an expressive movement with his hand. "The pressure of the water will… _kerlupf._"

McKay raised an eyebrow. "Not the technical term, but accurate. Of course, we'll have to wipe the computers first…"

"Fortunately, the program we have been working on to do that is completed."

The physicist's eyebrows shot upwards. "The virus? That was only a theory…"

"One I have been working on for a while." Radek shrugged. "Call me a pessimist."

"A pessimistic, sneaky, conniving - all this time?"

"Rodney," Weir interrupted, firmly.

"Yes, well…" Zelenka coughed. "The problem is that we still have no effective means of spreading the virus at the correct speed. The systems of Atlantis are complex and hold a great deal of data. If we allow it free reign then it would wreak havoc with the parts we still need to control, such as lights, doors, and the Stargate. Done too slowly, and the Wraith will be able to retrieve information from its memory before the virus can complete its task."

"Like the location of Earth," Sheppard finished, sighing.

"Precisely. I believe that if we manually distribute the virus to specific points in the city's system we will have greater control over what it deletes." The Czech spread his hands wide in a gesture of apology. "But that is tricky."

"What about weapons?" Ford asked.

"There are no drones left. The shield cannot be powered." Radek closed his eyes, and lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"We are defenseless," Elizabeth said, from the head of the table. Her voice, though quiet, held a note of finality. "We have to abandon it." She paused briefly, then looked towards Sheppard. "Sergeant Bates is organizing groups to protect the city's core. Dr Zelenka has a team working on the application of the virus. Peter is concentrating on the Stargate, and redialing the Alpha site between every shut down before the Wraith can dial in. Your job is to liaise with them and…"

"Run?" McKay shook his head. "We only just got here. There's still so much we…"

"I know, Rodney." Her mask slipped for a moment, and Elizabeth's sorrow was abruptly on display. "Believe me, I wish there was another way."

She drew a shaking hand through her hair. Sheppard watched closely, suddenly aware of a small, niggling sensation at the back of his mind, the sense of something being odd, and out of place.

"How many personnel are through the 'gate already?" Aiden asked.

"Between fifty and sixty, including some Athosians." Carson glanced at Teyla. "If you could help organize your people for the move, it'd be appreciated."

She nodded. "I will return with fighters."

Elizabeth rose, pushing herself back from the table, once more in command. "Then you all know what the position is. We now have roughly thirty minutes until the first Wraith dart enters the atmosphere." She paused. "I realize what I'm asking of anyone who stays behind to fight, and it's the same I ask of myself. But the Wraith cannot be allowed to find Earth."

She was pale, but determined, and Sheppard was struck by the age-old cliché, a captain going down with his ship. He rose quickly, hoping to stop the room's inhabitants from dwelling too long on her words.

"I guess we get to it, then."

There was a brief pause and then the group started to move, with an increasing sense of urgency. Elizabeth was out of the door first, moving towards Grodin, Zelenka and McKay close behind. Carson tailed them, accompanied by Teyla, but Ford hovered, waiting for his CO to go first.

The young lieutenant was studying the floor, his fear barely disguised behind a thin mask of professionalism. He spoke quietly, out of the others' earshot. "Sir, what Dr Weir meant…"

"Is that anyone who stays and fights will likely never make it through the Stargate." Again Sheppard felt an odd sense of displacement, that he was forgetting something important. He frowned, and scratched at the back of his neck.

Aiden had a distant look in his eyes. "I guess we always knew it could end like this, huh? Dying to protect Earth."

"Let's not count our chickens yet," Sheppard admonished. He paused, thinking of Aiden's family, of the families of all the other men under his command. Of Sumner. He had the sudden, horrible longing for the acerbic Colonel's return, for the older man to take command, allowing Sheppard to fade into the insignificant background.

He moved away from Aiden, out of the conference room and towards the balcony, vaguely aware of the Lieutenant following him. What ifs haunted him. If he hadn't woken the Wraith, if he'd been able to save Sumner, if he hadn't fallen for O'Neill's argument and left Antarctica…

Below him, the Stargate flickered, the event horizon sending shimmering splashes of silver light around the room. They bounced off the stained glass in the outside walls, and shed strange, twisted shadows on the floor.

There was a whisper, and the sensation of wrongness rippled over him, and made him shudder. Realization dawned, cold and sick in his stomach.

"Oh crap."

Aiden, moving his weight restlessly from foot to foot, looked up at him. "Major?"

"This isn't real." Sheppard wrapped his hands around the cold balcony railing and squeezed, hard. "We're still in the game."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so you don't win anything for seeing that one coming... The next chapter should be a biggie, so it might take me a while to write it. Please bear with me, RL has this annoying habit of getting in the way of fic!_


	21. End Zone

_A/N: I'm so, so sorry for the delay. Partly this is down to RL, partly down to writers' block, but mostly down to an insane decision on my part to post this chapter in one, rather than breaking it up. Turns out it now represents an entire third of the rest of the fic, but hey! It's done now. Thank you for all the lovely feedback, you guys are great. I hope I haven't lost too many of you in the delay!_

* * *

Chapter Twenty One - End Zone

Sheppard stood on the balcony, his hands wrapped around the cool metal railing, struggling to understand. Below him, the gate room continued to bustle with activity, soldiers checking their weapons, scientists moving the crates forward and back, then forward again, towards the open wormhole. He could hear Peter's hands on the keys of the Atlantean computers, and the soft mutterings the Brit made beneath his breath.

It was too real, too damn authentic but he couldn't defeat the staggering knowledge that this…

"Sir?"

Sheppard tore his gaze away from the Stargate, the silver sphere of the event horizon betraying everything around him. Ford stood beside him and looked confused.

"Major Sheppard."

Bates' voice roused him from desperation. Pushing away from the railing Sheppard turned to face the Sergeant, who was stood at attention, clearly waiting for something.

Oh, right.

"Sergeant." He fumbled, forcing himself back into the mindset of the game. It was easy enough – to lose himself in the fear of his men, of the bristling of guns. "Dr Weir's filled us in."

Bates nodded curtly. A good man, Sheppard noted, absently, but a stickler for the rules and a guy who really needed to relax more. Perhaps, if they got out of this, he would ask the guy to the next movie night. His choice. Something filled with testosterone.

"We're gathering all personnel to the command area of the city." Bates' explanation was staccato and as stiff as his posture. "I have forty men forming a perimeter around the area. The others have formed pairs and will accompany any civilians if they need to go further into the city."

Sheppard nodded, because he was expected to. "Then the line falls back to protect the Stargate for as long as possible."

Bates moved his P90 so it rested against his chest. "I've distributed the stunners, one for each group. A portion of the armory has been sent through the 'gate already."

"Good job, Sergeant." Sheppard paused, and added, impulsively: "on everything."

Bates blinked, softening fractionally in his bemusement. It lasted a second before he hardened and said, curtly: "All the teams have been given a quantity of C4. Should it come to that."

Sheppard winced. "Let's hope it doesn't."

"If you want to take command," Bates said, meaningfully.

"No."

He was aware of Ford's mouth dropping open and hanging agape for several seconds before the Lieutenant realized, and shut it, firmly.

"Major?" Bates asked, one eyebrow raised.

He filled in smoothly, improvising. "I need to coordinate with Teyla and her people. Some of the Athosians have agreed to fight alongside us. I want you to take command of the defenses until I rejoin you."

The security officer nodded, uncertainly. "I'll instruct Sergeant Stackhouse to lead the east section."

"Good idea." Sheppard waited, deliberately silent, for Bates to move away. He was aware of Ford, standing beside him, looking increasingly confused.

"Sir…"

"We need to find Teyla." He moved past the Lieutenant and headed down the corridor in the direction the Athosian had taken.

"Sir." Ford was insistent, and a little scared, following his CO dutifully. "Don't we need to…"

"Don't you feel it?" Sheppard kept his voice low, conscious of the people moving around them. They seemed too caught up in the evacuation to pay any attention to the two soldiers moving against the stream. "We never left the game. We're still on the Ancient outpost."

Ford looked doubtfully about him, glancing at their surroundings. "Major, with all due respect… it feels real."

"So did everything else," Sheppard replied, grimly. "Right up until it went to hell." He walked with speed and purpose, already trying to decide his next move. To give up, and wait for a rescue? To continue on? To…

"Don't you think it's odd," he pressed, "that the minute we step through the 'gate we find out the Wraith are attacking?"

Ford bit his already bruised lip. "We knew they would come at some point."

"But now?" Sheppard shook his head. "No. It's too convenient."

Aiden pulled a face, clearly disagreeing. "If you say so, sir." He paused. "I hope you're right."

"I am," he replied, and the more times he declared it, the more faith he had. It was too convenient - and damned if he ever thought he would call a Wraith attack that - too unreal, the reactions of Elizabeth and Bates feeling forced and stilted, like poor actors in a cheap play.

"So what do we do?"

He stopped abruptly, stepping into a transporter. Ford followed, and he hit the controls before the door had closed. "We go get Teyla and Rodney…" he paused, as over the space of a second his atoms were dematerialized, then rematerialized in an identical chamber three floors and two sections away. "Then we find a way out of here."

He stepped out of the transporter chamber, Ford close on his heels, still confused.

"Sir…"

"Think about it, Lieutenant." He walked quickly, having to step around the throng of people coming the other way. The crowd was denser nearer the Jumper Bay, and mostly comprised of scientists, pale faced and wide eyed. "What is the one thing that all the levels had in common?"

Aiden shivered. "They were all creepy as hell?"

"That," Sheppard admitted, ruefully. "They were nightmares, right? Part memory, part something else - whatever the computer dug up from our own knowledge. And it was designed to be a training device."

"Against the Wraith." Aiden paused to press himself against the wall, allowing a trolley laden with boxes to roll past him, pushed by a red faced marine.

"Exactly." Sheppard allowed himself a sick, grim smile. "It promised to take us to the final level."

A look of something approaching revulsion appeared on Aiden's face, but before the young Lieutenant could speak they were both hailed by a surprised sounding voice.

"Major Sheppard, Lieutenant Ford." Halling towered over the pair, Jinto hugging his father's hip closely. The Athosian carried a sack across one shoulder, and his free arm draped protectively over his son. "You are not with Doctor Weir?"

"No." Sheppard leant forward on his tip toes, trying to see over Halling's shoulder, struggling to spot Teyla in the bustle surrounding the jumpers. "She sent us to protect any groups heading to the Stargate."

Halling dipped his head slowly. "Your aid is appreciated, Major." His expression changed, flickering to one Sheppard couldn't identify. He saw the Athosian's arm hug his son a little tighter. "I had hoped this day would not come."

"Yeah. We all did." His gaze drifted down to the belt around the taller man's waist, and the smooth, wooden sticks housed there. Halling seemed to notice and shifted, his eyes turning dark.

"As long as there are those willing to stand against the Wraith, there is hope. The Ancestors have protected this city for all these generations, and I believe they will continue to do so."

"Father."

Jinto clung to his father, both hands wrapped tightly within the man's clothes. He looked away from John, but not before revealing tear stained cheeks.

"Please…"

The boy's voice broke, and he lapsed into silence, pushing his face against his father's side. Halling gently lifted his hand and placed it atop his son's head, his thumb stroking the boy's hair.

Again Sheppard eyes turned to the Athosian's weapon.

"Your people have sacrificed much to protect mine," Halling said, quietly. "It is right that we should do the same. I cannot hide whilst the Wraith claim another galaxy as a feeding ground."

A single sob tore itself free of Jinto's throat and was muffled by Halling's shirt. Bending down, Halling whispered hidden words into his son's ear, and after several seconds Jinto pulled away, wiping his face with one hand. His expression wavered, then resolved itself into one that was cold, and determined, and made him seemed older than his years.

It was not an expression Sheppard relished seeing on the boy, and he swallowed hard, and looked away.

"Major." Ford had spotted Teyla, in the open mouth of one of the Jumpers.

"We've got to go." Sheppard forced himself to look back at Halling, aware of the way Jinto stared determinedly ahead. "Take care," he said, and the words felt empty.

The Athosian nodded slowly, then moved past the two officers, his son in tow. Resisting the urge to watch them, Sheppard moved through the bay towards the Jumper. Teyla stood amidst a family of three, speaking in low tones to the young mother. A baby slept against the woman's shoulder, bound in a dark colored shawl that wrapped the mother's shoulders. They both looked up upon Sheppard's approach, Teyla unable to hide her surprise.

"Major Sheppard, Lieutenant. You are not with Dr Weir?"

"No." He glanced briefly at the young woman, but she ducked her head and turned away. "Teyla, can we talk?"

She frowned, but nodded. "Yes, but…"

"Great." Turning to the family, Sheppard gestured at them, beckoning one of the marines over. "You know where to go, right?"

Again the woman shied away, obeying as the marine gestured her and her family away from the jumper. Alone, Sheppard drew closer to Teyla, overly aware of eavesdroppers.

"What is going on?" She looked between the two men, confused. "Major…"

"We're still in the game."

The look of confusion remained for several long seconds, and then she shook her head.

"No. No, I would feel it, Major. My people…"

"Did you feel it before?" he challenged her. "Back in the forest, when you were fighting in front of your father? Did you feel it then?"

She turned away, looking out through the jumper bay window to the large number of Athosian men, women and children still milling, in confusion, in the bay. "I realize," she said quietly, "that the knowledge of the Wraith's approach is terrifying. To uproot - again - and leave the City of the Ancestors…"

"I know." He placed a hand on her arm.

"No." She pulled away. "With all due respect, Major, you do not. This is the difference between my people and yours. You have never had to flee a culling before. Athos has lived under its threat for as long as our history remembers." She shot a dark look at him. "We are wasting time."

He was silent for a moment, Jinto's expression fixed in his mind. "I'm sorry," he said, after a moment. "You're right. I can't see this the same way you do."

"No." Her expression softened. "I had hoped you never would."

"Let's keep hoping, huh?" He paused, speaking softly. "Look, I know this feels real – but I just don't buy it. After everything it put us through, we're supposed to believe that the final level was just that cliff?"

Teyla's gaze flickered downwards, to the floor. "It was not easy, but…"

"But you agree?" Sheppard encouraged.

"Perhaps. It does seem odd, that the game ended in such a manner."

"I think…" Ford paused briefly. "I think the Major is right, Teyla. The more I think about it, the more things feel odd."

"It was a training device," Sheppard pressed. "It was designed to teach the Ancients how to fight the Wraith."

Her determination faltered. "And you believe this is part of it?"

"The guide agreed to send us to the final level, to give us a chance to complete the game." He took a deep breath, and continued: "it's been playing this cycle of nightmares all this time, and this is just another part of it."

She placed a hand on the wall of the jumper. "This is the final part?"

"You said it yourself," he said, softly. "It's terrifying."

Teyla closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked between the two men. "You both believe this?"

Sheppard nodded decisively, but Aiden seemed a little more hesitant.

"I think. It's starting to make more sense."

"This…" She looked out again at the jumper bay. Slowly the Athosians were filtering out through the corridors, and one of the empty jumpers was in the air, preparing to return to the mainland. "It is tempting…"

"More than tempting," Sheppard insisted. "It's true. The Wraith, the Stargate, Halling, Weir - they're not real. You, me, Ford and McKay - we're the only things that are."

Teyla pulled herself away from the jumper wall. Sheppard laid his hand on her shoulder and felt her tremble, briefly, beneath his touch.

"I want this to be over," she breathed. "This is not a game."

"No." He squeezed her shoulder briefly, then allowed his hand to drop away. "We need to find McKay."

* * *

The physicist was in his lab. His voice was raised and sounded angry, though the occasional peak of high tone betrayed nerves and panic. As they drew closer, Sheppard could make out the softer, more rational voice of Radek, responding calmly to McKay's rants but never allowing the Canadian any ground. 

"If Ashcroft worked on the directional controls then Kavanagh…"

"No, McKay. The distribution of power between the two would be highly volatile and would not hold under the stress you…"

"Not unless we diverted some of the flow back towards the buffer…"

"Which would create a feedback loop…"

"Which might create a feedback loop, yes, but the chances are so small…"

Sheppard rounded the corner into the lab in time to see Zelenka snap. Slamming a folder onto the table, the Czech yelled: "There is no time, Rodney! Maybes and what ifs will not save us! If you give them this hope then they will stay, and they will all die, for nothing!"

The Canadian visibly recoiled, paling dramatically and taking a step backwards. "If," he continued, in a low voice, "there is a chance…"

"Doctors," Sheppard interrupted, loudly. The two physicists looked around at him. "What's going on?"

Zelenka glared at McKay. "He believes we can use the combined power of the jumpers to power the chair."

John raised an eyebrow. "Can we?"

"Yes."

"No."

McKay shot a dark look at the Czech. "Maybe," he conceded.

"No," Radek repeated, his voice harsh. "Rodney, yes, you are possibly right…"

"Ah!"

"… but there is no way to do it before the Wraith get here. You know this."

McKay deflated, turning his back to his audience. "I know."

Ford frowned, looking at the bowed form of the physicist. "If there's a chance, shouldn't we go for it?"

"Not in this case," Radek said, fiercely.

Rodney gave a deep sigh, and turned back to them, drawing a hand across his tired face. "If I had my entire team working on it, then maybe. But to do that I would have to call them back from the Alpha site and…" he hesitated, "Radek is right. It isn't worth it."

"So," the Czech paused, glancing towards Sheppard, "you must choose."

"Choose?" Teyla took a step into the room, watching the two scientists closely.

McKay dipped his head, his expression dark. "Kusanagi is the best programmer we have. Peter knows the control room and the 'gate better than anyone. Ashcroft is efficient. Send Kavanagh through the wormhole. And…" He stopped, folding his arms across his chest.

"I will also stay," Zelenka agreed. His voice held a note of weary resignation, his expression turning as shuttered as McKay's. "Myself, Miko, Peter and David."

Sheppard's stomach dropped away from him as he realized what McKay was doing. "These are the people staying to release the virus?"

"Yes." McKay lifted his head and looked at Zelenka. "But you're not staying."

Radek shook his head. "I know what you would say, Rodney, but it is the truth - you are the better scientist…"

"No," McKay snapped back, fervently. "I'm staying. You're going through the 'gate."

"Rodney…"

"No arguments, Zelenka. I'm staying, but the Alpha site still needs a head scientist and you're the best."

The Czech raised an eyebrow. "You finally admit this."

"Second best," Rodney amended. He took a breath, and pressed on: "Tell the others to pack their gear quickly and get to the Alpha site."

Radek opened his mouth to protest, but stopped, McKay folding his arms and turning away. "Alright," he conceded, his voice soft. "I will go and inform the others."

"Radek."

The smaller man turned, and looked back at the Canadian.

"Make sure the military know they're to be protected. That goes for you, too."

Zelenka paused, his hand on the door frame. "We will meet later, yes?"

McKay inclined his head, his neutral expression carefully controlled. "Yes."

Radek nodded once, and then disappeared through the doorway. Exhaling a deep sigh, McKay turned and faced his teammates. He seemed older, and terribly tired.

"What is it?"

Sheppard glanced between Teyla and Ford, and plunged ahead. "We think we're still in the game."

The scientist blinked, and looked askance. "What are you talking about?"

"The computer simulation created by the Ancients." Teyla spoke smoothly, taking a step forward. "Major Sheppard believes this is part of the final level." She paused, and added: "As do I."

"And me," Ford said, quickly.

"What?" McKay's eyes widened. "Are you all insane? You know the Wraith are coming, right? Any minute now? And we…"

"I know it's hard to believe," Sheppard interrupted, "but just think about it for a minute, Rodney. The computer puts us through all that crap, wouldn't you expect the final level to be something harder than taking a leap off a cliff?"

McKay scoffed, and turned his back to them, facing the computer. "That wasn't easy, Major, that was damn stupid and reckless and it's a miracle…"

"McKay!" he snapped. "Listen to me. Don't you feel it? You've got the gene, you've gotta feel a fraction of what I do."

The scientist's shoulders knotted beneath his shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Atlantis. The way it talks, the way it…" he gestured vaguely with his hands. "It whispers. It's always there, except it isn't – not here. It doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel like it ought to…"

Rodney turned on his heel, his face flushed and angry. "How?" he demanded. "How is it supposed to feel? I am sending three people to their death, and that's probably going to be followed by mine, so tell me, Major, how is it supposed to feel?"

Sheppard took a breath, watching the scientist turn a brighter shade of red. "Not like this," he replied, quietly. "I get that this is hard to grasp, McKay, but think about it. Think about the 'gate."

"What about it?"

"Elizabeth said Grodin had been redialing the Alpha site every thirty eight minutes to stop the Wraith from dialing in."

"Yes." McKay shrugged. "What about it?"

Sheppard took a breath, and plunged forward with his ace card. "How did we get back?"

There was a pause. McKay opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. Ford and Teyla exchanged confused looks.

"Sir?"

"I realize my knowledge of wormhole physics is a little sketchy," Sheppard admitted, "but I do know that you can't dial a Stargate if the receiving Stargate is active. It's like dialing a phone and getting the engaged tone, right?"

McKay nodded, slowly. His face was no longer red, but a sickly shade of white. "And Peter has been keeping the 'gate open for the whole time."

"So how did we manage to dial Atlantis when we were back on the outpost?" Sheppard asked. "How did we manage to 'gate back home?"

This time the silence was even longer. McKay turned away, leaning over the lab bench. His reply, when it came, was muffled and tight.

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know."

The scientist pushed himself away from the bench, glowering. "Great plan."

"Look, I…" Sheppard raked a hand through his hair roughly. "Back to the Stargate," he decided. "We dial up the outpost and head back there."

"To achieve what?" McKay snapped. "Wouldn't it be better if you just, y'know…" he clicked his fingers, "bewitched your way out of here?"

"I tried. It didn't work." He took a deep breath. "No, we head to the 'gate, dial the outpost, and force the computer to end this."

"Oh, and how do you expect us to do that?" the scientist demanded. "What if the wormhole just sends us right back here?"

Teyla's voice was quiet, but resolute. "What if this is, in fact, real?"

Sheppard repressed a shudder. The suggestion lurked at the back of his mind but he dared not voice it, reminding himself of the 'gate, of the facts.

A distant explosion sent vibrations through the room, the floor shaking beneath their feet. Over the radio came an alarmed crackle, Elizabeth's voice.

"_Major Sheppard, report to the 'gate room immediately."_

He ignored her, desperate.

McKay had moved to a computer console and was looking at reports from across the city. "Several darts have taken suicide runs at the east and west towers. One generator is down." He looked up, pale. "There are Wraith all over the city."

"What?" Aiden's eyes were wide, and panicked. "I thought we had more time…"

"They are early," Teyla said, softly.

"It isn't real," Sheppard replied, fiercely. "The system's just trying to compensate for what we know. It's a distraction, that's why they're here."

There was another explosion, muffled by layers of metal and glass. McKay bounced between one console and another, a bundle of nervous energy. There was another call from Elizabeth.

"_Attention, please."_ Her voice was strained. _"We are abandoning the city. Anyone not remaining behind must make their way to the Stargate."_

"They're attacking the outer sections," McKay continued, "where the weapons are. Or," and he uttered a short barked laugh, "where they would be, if we had any." His hands skipped across the console. "We have to move."

"To where?" Teyla demanded. "I will not hide, whether this is real or not."

"I agree, sir." Ford dipped his head. "I think - I think you're right, I think we're still in the game but part of me isn't sure and that part, well…" He stopped.

"Somebody has to deliver the virus to the control centre," McKay said, quietly. "It's not going to be Radek. It's bad enough…" He paused, and finished: "I'm not running away, however appealing an idea."

Sheppard assessed his team: pale, scared, but determined, half hidden in the shadows of the lab. He wanted to protect them, wanted to use his luck of genetics to pull them all out of there, to bring things to an end. He wanted to communicate his feeling of wrongness to them, the enhanced sense of something seeming very odd, and hollow. Like being trapped in a play, or in a dream. But as he looked at his team some of their doubt seemed to radiate back, and the fear - what if this is real, what if this is it - he stifled the feeling before it could grow.

"Alright. We stay."

And he was hideously aware of what that meant. No rescue, no retreat. Fighting to protect a home they would never see again. Staying in the city until…

There was a sudden burst of sharp static, punctuated by a high pitched whine coming from the city intercom. Speakers hidden in the wall spoke loud with a fast-paced, terrified Scottish brogue.

"_This is Carson Beckett. I'm in the infirmary. I have four patients and twelve staff down here. There are Wraith trying to get in."_

Ford turned towards Sheppard. "Didn't the doc' get a security detail?"

"I'm sure he did," Sheppard replied, darkly. More men dead.

"_I need assistance. I've instructed the computer to keep the doors closed but I'm not sure…"_

There was a clatter, the sound of something metal hitting the floor. McKay jumped, and gripped the edge of the console tightly.

"Major…"

"We can't get to him," Sheppard replied, tersely. His insides clenched at the sound of the physician, of his friend - desperate and trapped.

"…_I think the Wraith are doing something to the lock. I don't think it will take them long to override it and we are unarmed. Please, we need security…"_

"The transporters are still working." McKay stretched out one hand to tap at the computer console. "There's a way into the medical supply closet using the ventilation system. If we go now…"

"No," he ordered. "We have jobs to do. If we're playing by the rules…"

"Damn the rules!" McKay snapped. "You can't expect us to sit and wait while…"

"You have to input the virus!" Sheppard shot back. "Don't be reckless, McKay!"

"_Oh, god. Can anyone hear me? Is this working? They've got through the first door. I think…"_

"We will go," Teyla said, suddenly, taking a step towards the door and followed by Ford.

Sheppard stepped into their path, shaking his head. His hand gripped the butt of his gun, tightly, feeling the blood leach from his fingers. "You can't take them down with just the two of you."

The sounds of the physician's harsh breathing continued loudly over the intercom.

Teyla lifted her gaze to meet his, defiantly. "We will try."

"No, you won't! Dammit, this isn't real, Teyla! If you go there…"

"They need protection," she shot back.

"…they'll kill you," he finished, grimly. "And then they'll kill everyone else."

McKay was the color of ash, clutching the console with both hands. "They're going to anyway," he whispered. "There's not enough time."

"_Please. They're nearly through the second door. We need…"_ Carson's voice broke off at the sound of an explosion. Screams could be heard over the radio, the sound of Wraith stunners.

"_We're of no threat to you_!" the physician yelled, his voice breaking_. "We can't hurt you, there are injured people in here, please…"_

And then his voice cut off, abruptly, and there was more crashing, and explosions and Sheppard could see the infirmary being torn apart, of Wraith slamming the brave against walls or tables, of draining the life from the bodies of patients, of nurses, of…

A long, drawn-out, guttural moan came across the intercom. A cry of pain, of anguish, of a man dying in agony.

The voice was recognizable as belonging to Carson Beckett.

"Turn it off."

McKay lifted his head from his hands and looked up.

"Turn it off," Sheppard repeated, but Carson had already fallen silent, and now the only sounds from the infirmary were those of the Wraith, moving through wreckage.

McKay touched the computer console and the intercom went dead. His hand was shaking.

Aiden had pulled himself into a corner and was pressing himself against the wall, looking sick.

Teyla was stood facing the door, one hand covering her mouth as she whispered soft, alien words to herself.

Another muffled boom rocked the city.

"God…" McKay scrubbed his hand across his hair violently. "He…" His voice broke.

Sheppard flinched. "We couldn't have done anything."

"We should have tried," the physicist responded, thickly. "We should have done something."

"You would have got yourselves killed."

"If it's a game, then what does it matter?"

"We play by the rules," he shot back. "It's the only way we're getting out of here."

"If we're wrong…" McKay cut off, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive hug.

"We're not." Sheppard swallowed, his mouth tasting of ash. "He's fine. They're all fine." Though it felt real, it felt real, and he was screaming to wake up, for the computer to…

"We cannot stay here." Teyla uncurled herself and moved towards the door. "I am going to protect my people. Real or not, I have to ensure as many escape through the Stargate as is possible."

"I should help Sergeant Stackhouse." Ford had drawn himself out of the corner, but he still seemed shaken. "If the Wraith have got as far as the infirmary…" he cut off, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously.

"Stay together," Sheppard told them. "See if you can find a team with a lifesigns detector. Stackhouse will have one, and Sergeant Facaros."

Ford nodded, stiffly. Teyla had her hand on the door frame, and paused. "And you?"

"I'm going to head to the 'gate room, see what Elizabeth needs, control things from there."

"Protect Grodin," McKay said, suddenly. "He's the one with access to the city stabilizers."

Sheppard nodded. "Got it. You?"

"I need to coordinate with the others, then input the virus into the control centre." McKay's hand rested on the console. "I can only do that after Peter's started to sink the city."

"I'll send a security team." He looked towards Teyla and Ford. "When this is over…" he paused.

Ford glanced away, but Teyla met his gaze and returned it, evenly.

"We will be careful," she promised him.

Empty, he thought, since the Wraith were swarming the city, and anyone who stayed to defend it was sacrificing themselves. But he forced himself to nod. "Good. And afterwards, we'll all get drunk."

"Excellent idea," McKay muttered, turning his back on them.

Ford managed a grin, then disappeared out the door, his P90 in his hands. Teyla followed, drawing her sticks from her belt. Sheppard watched them leave, then turned back to McKay.

The scientist was concentrating on the computer, his fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. Sheppard glanced at the screen but could understand none of the information scrolling across it, and gave up trying.

"Don't be a hero," McKay said suddenly, his tone terse. "You're not Kirk."

"Kirk was the good guy," he reminded him, gently.

"And it got him killed." The physicist glanced at him, quickly. "If you have a chance to go through the 'gate, then take it."

Sheppard opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. "See you on the other side," he finished, simply.

McKay didn't respond. The scientist's bowed back was the last sight Sheppard had of him.

* * *

Aiden ran through the halls quickly, Teyla moving effortlessly at his side. He struggled to lose the sounds of Beckett's pain from his mind, failing to grasp the idea that Major Sheppard was right, that the city, the people in it, the Wraith – that it was all fake. The levels of the game had been real, but not on such a scale, and though the logic made sense the emotional impact told different, and he struggled to reconcile the two. 

"Do you think…" he hesitated, glancing at Teyla. "Does this feel real to you?"

Teyla drew to a stop, looking around a corner cautiously. A moment later she stepped out into the empty space and the run continued, heading towards the nearest transporter. "It feels real," she admitted, "but I have dreamt with equal clarity. I do not think we are supposed to be able to distinguish the two."

"If this is…" Again Aiden hesitated. "Doctor Beckett…"

Teyla's shoulders slumped fractionally. "What happened to Doctor Beckett could not have been prevented," she said, softly. "Major Sheppard was right. Although I felt compelled to help him, our efforts would have been in vain." She looked at him with dark, old eyes. "Sometimes terrible decisions are made during times of crisis, and there is no right or wrong outcome. Afterwards, there will be time to grieve."

"After?" Ford felt a sudden surge of bubbling hysteria, flashing back to the memory of his family home, of his cousin's blood smeared across the walls. He swallowed hard, and gripped his weapon tighter. "I don't think there's going to be one."

Her look hardened, her jaw clenching. "No one can afford to think like that. We do what we must."

"I know." His thumb curled around the trigger. "I know, it's just.. " Again he paused, wanting to explain but unable to find the words. To do this, to stay and fight not for his life, but for the lives of his family back on Earth – he understood it, he believed in it, but to know all that and at the same time doubt that the experience was even real… "It's not like I thought it would be."

She gave a small smile. "It never is, Aiden."

He sighed, and nodded, lifting a hand to press his radio. "Sergeant Stackhouse, do you copy?"

"_Sir."_

"What is your position, Sergeant? Teyla and I are looking to join you."

"_We've picked up five Wraith moving toward our position, sir. Sergeant Facaros has a number of evacuees trying to get to the Stargate but the enemy have cut them off. Any help would be appreciated."_

"No worries. Where are you?"

"_I can see you on the scanner. We're three corridors down to your east."_

Teyla moved instantly, Ford following. Explosions continued to rock the city around them, muffled booms and the creaking of metal. As he approached an outer wall he thought, for a moment, he could hear screams, but a second later they were gone. Teyla hadn't reacted, and he wondered whether the sound was simply a remnant of the violence in the infirmary.

Stackhouse was with five other men, weapons drawn, fanned out along a corridor. The Sergeant beckoned the Lieutenant closer, but it was Teyla who spoke first.

"Where is Sergeant Facaros?"

"Northern wing, on your left." Stackhouse turned the scanner around so she could see the display. A clustered group of dots were situated in a room several corridors closer to the city centre, along and left from the corridor in which Stackhouse's men waited. Five other dots were moving from the outer edges of the screen inwards, towards their position.

"The Wraith," Stackhouse explained, tersely. He glanced at Teyla. "We'll hold out here and keep the way clear until Facaros can get your people to safety. If you want to join them…"

She bowed her head a fraction in gratitude. "I would." She turned, then paused, looking back at Aiden. "Lieutenant…"

He floundered for a second, sharing something with her, a silent understanding of what they had signed up to do. Of the doubt that lay in her eyes, and was mirrored in his own. "Take care of your people," he offered, finally.

She smiled, and placed a hand on his arm for a moment. "Stay safe, Lieutenant." Then she turned, and headed down the corridor at quick run.

Stackhouse was directing his men along the corridor, but paused, glancing back expectantly at Ford. "Lieutenant?"

Aiden hesitated, recognizing his superior rank but acknowledging the ease with which Stackhouse directed his men. The Sergeant was several years older than him, and Aiden had never fully come to terms with his standing as Atlantis' military second-in-command. He relished leadership, but was aware of its proper place, and given the situation, rank seemed unimportant.

"You've got someone on point?"

The Sergeant nodded. "Airman Taylor."

Ford nodded, satisfied. Taylor was a good man, with keen eyesight and quick reactions. He looked over the team. Technical Sergeant Willis, a beefy Australian with an iron clad stomach when it came to both alcohol and alien food. Four airman; Chan, Broderick, Denton and Moore. Senior airman Patel, born to Indian parents, secret lover of stadium rock, famous player of air guitar, and with a mouth that could curdle the Athosian cattle milk. Aiden knew them all, was closer to some than others, but despite their differing personalities at present, they all shared the same expression. Tense, and nervous, and determined.

Certain death, he thought, and did a weapons check. "One stunner?"

"One per team." Stackhouse grimaced. "That's all there are."

Aiden nodded. He knew this, had done an inventory more than once in the past month, but the sudden reminder was hard to bear. One stunner, a handful of P-90s and a number of grenades, to be used only in the worst case scenario. He glanced again at the screen of the lifesigns scanner, and saw that the Wraith party were closing in.

It wasn't enough. The only hope was that they could hold off long enough to allow Teyla and Facaros to get the evacuees to safety. To give McKay and the remaining scientists enough time to destroy the city, along with the Wraith and any survivors.

His radio suddenly came alive with static, and the sound of Taylor's panicked voice.

"_They know where we are, they've seen me. Fall back! Fall…"_

The radio cut off suddenly, with a click. Ford felt a wave of intense relief, grateful for the reprieve, unable to face another transmitted death. Then the relief gave way to guilt, and to grief, and he bottled it all down within himself and lifted his chin to face Stackhouse.

There would be time for rage later, he figured. Whatever the outcome.

"Lieutenant?" Stackhouse asked, his face drawn and pale.

"We move back a corridor." Ford waved his P90 as way of a signal, and led the men towards Teyla's party. "There's a crossway ahead that will give us better cover."

"Taylor?" Chan asked, plaintively.

Aiden shook his head, feeling bitter, and incredibly tired. "We fall back a little, then we hold our ground. That's the job."

Stackhouse nodded, looking as grim as Aiden felt. "We hold our ground," he repeated, determined.

* * *

"Teyla." 

Sergeant Facaros was a short, well-built man with a dark complexion and thick, unruly black hair he failed to keep in check with clippers. One of the few marines gifted with the gene, he headed a team of six guarding the main corridor from the Jumper bay to the 'gate room. He held a lifesigns detector in one hand and a gun in the other, his concentration swapping between the two.

"Some of your people are waiting to evacuate." He glanced down the corridor, then back at the detector. "I've got a room full but I've orders from Sergeant Bates to wait until getting the all clear before allowing them through."

Teyla nodded. She liked the Sergeant. He had been one of the first to talk to her after her official move to the city, when others had treated her inclusion on the team with distrust and suspicion. He had opened up to her about his homeland, about long stretches of dusty road curling around cliffs, of islands covered with coniferous trees and surrounded by crystal blue ocean.

He had talked of returning there, if they made contact with Earth, said that he had spent too long away from his family already. Now he would never have the chance, and Teyla found it difficult to face him.

Several Athosians stood with the soldiers, a common threat uniting them when otherwise there would have been distance. One of them, a woman named Sharel, had been Teyla's close friend for much of her teenage years and although her appointment as leader had separated the two women, Teyla found herself intensely glad of the older woman's presence.

"We always knew they would come."

Teyla dipped her head, sadly. "I know."

Sharel glanced at the marines, and spoke quietly. "I am not sure they did."

She hesitated, considering the six soldiers for a moment. "Perhaps not," she admitted. "But they now fight to save their home world."

"The Wraith's feeding ground cannot be allowed to grow," Sharel said. "Not across one planet, one system. And not to another galaxy." She shifted her weight between her feet.

"_Facaros."_ The Greek had a hand to his radio but Teyla could still hear the voice of Stackhouse carried loudly over it. _"We've got Wraith coming in our position."_

There was a short buzz in her own ear. _"Teyla,"_ Aiden instructed_, "move your people now. We'll give you enough time to get to the 'gate."_

"Understood," she replied, and moved past Sharel towards Facaros, who had already opened a side room. What had once been a recreation area was now full of twenty Athosians and several Earth scientists, clutching bags or young children to their chests, waiting silently. Frightened.

"Come on," Facaros said, gesturing towards them.

"It is quite safe," Teyla assured them, moving aside to let the first ones past. "We must move towards the Stargate."

Facaros started directing his men, sending them to protective positions around the small party. Sharel gave Teyla a small smile and then moved past them to join the soldiers at the rear, helping the slowest evacuees to move faster.

Teyla cut to the front, to the side of Facaros, who stared intently at the lifesigns detector as he moved. She recognized the corridor as the one connecting the main living area to the city centre, but at that moment it seemed twice as long and suddenly oppressive, full of shadows and threats behind each corner. The people behind her were twitchy and mostly silent, save for the occasional whisper and soft cry of a child. The soldiers were on edge, tense and alert, guns held at the ready, safeties off.

She held her own P90 loosely, the weapon uncomfortable in her hands.

Facaros took the first step forward, trotting quietly to the first crossroads before stopping, and again consulting the life signs detector. He gestured for Teyla to come to his side, and moved his hand so she could see the detector's display.

"The road's clear," he said, and waved the group forward.

Teyla moved with them, listening carefully to the soft tread of military boots, and the light footed, almost silent steps of the Athosians. The scientists were the loudest, clumsy and jittery, but thankfully said nothing, bound up in their own thoughts and fears.

She thought briefly of McKay, and the way that, in his first off-world missions, the scientist would continue to chatter despite the situation. It had taken some sharp words from Sheppard and several near-fatal encounters with the local populace before he had learnt his lesson, but her first month after meeting the physicist had been spent wondering at his inclusion on the team. Whether his genius had come at the expense of other, more personable traits, like bravery and honor. Then he had waded into the middle of the energy sucking creature, and all doubts she had of him and the other scientists had evaporated.

Facaros glanced at her, then back at the group, and signaled one of the soldiers to hustle them along. The soldier, a dark skinned man with speckled grey hair, took the elbow of one of the female scientists and spoke soft words into her ear, the woman nodding and picking up the pace.

The scanner had shown the five dots, representing the Wraith, almost on top of Sergeant Stackhouse and his men. Silently she uttered a soft prayer for Aiden, then tightened her grip on the P90, and moved onwards down the corridor.

* * *

Adams and O'Brien were the two soldiers designated as McKay's military escort. He knew neither of them, other than as faces in the lunch line, but was satisfied with both their weapons and their size. O'Brien was a fair haired giant of a man, with wide shoulders and thick arms, his face a constant pink and covered with a smattering of freckles. Adams was a fraction shorter, but still two heads taller than McKay, slender and without an ounce of visible body fat, over six feet of tight muscle. 

McKay clutched a scanner to his chest and sandwiched himself between the two hulks, Adams at his back and O'Brien watching the path ahead. The scanner had shown that the surrounding area was free of anyone other than themselves - no one else had cause to be in the lower level of the city - but he still felt jittery, and struggled to keep calm despite the ever increasing explosions and the creak of the city around him, struggling to cope.

"Relax, doc'," Adams assured him, from behind. "We'd know if there were Wraith on our tail."

O'Brien glanced back towards the pair and raised an eyebrow. "You're not going through the 'gate?"

McKay grimaced. "Ideally. But I need to make sure the computer's memory is wiped first."

"And you couldn't' have picked someone else?"

"No," the scientist replied, hotly. "The rest are idiots. This has to be done right."

O'Brien's eyebrow lifted higher, but his expression softened and he nodded, and made a noise of understanding. "Hmm."

McKay glared at him, then turned his attention back to the scanner. He ran over the virus schematics quickly in his mind. Ashcroft in the east wing, Kusanagi in the west, Grodin at 'gate command and himself heading north, where the core systems rested.

Dave, Miko and Peter. His stomach clenched, and he repeated Sheppard's mantra: It's not real, it's not real, it's not…

It hadn't made the decision any easier and it did little to ease his tension.

He touched his hand to his radio. "Ashcroft, you hear me?"

"_Crystal clear, McKay."_ The Yorkshireman sounded casual and relaxed, as easy going as ever.

McKay hated himself.

"Any problems?"

"_None. She's just waiting for me to fit the final piece."_

"It's not a she," he responded, automatically. "It's a computer."

"_You'll hurt her feelings."_ Ashcroft paused. _"Feels wrong, tearing her down like this."_

"I know," McKay replied, vehemently. "You'd better have an escort."

"_Don't worry, I'm like a boy scout. Always prepared."_

The physicist rolled his eyes. He was aware of O'Brien staring at him, and looked away, clinging to normality. "Please. You were never a boy scout."

"_Could have been. Besides, it's still true. And don't worry, McKay. I've got back-up."_

"Good. As soon as you're finished head to the 'gate."

"_Just waiting for the go."_

Which would never come, McKay thought, despairingly. Though neither Dave nor Miko had to wait for Peter to set the city sinking, they still had to return to the control room before they could head for the Alpha Site and with Wraith swarming across the city, achieving this seemed impossible.

Neither of them would see Earth again.

McKay looked down again at the scanner. He was getting closer to the northern section, and the room housing the mainframe.

"The system will let me know when you're done," he said, to the radio. "Be as quick as you can."

Ashcroft's reply was still laidback, but it held a tone of something warmer, and deeper. _"I'll make it a race."_ Then he cut off, with a click.

McKay's hand dropped from his radio. It trembled slightly, and he curled his fingers into a fist. O'Brien was looking away, his attention on the corridor ahead. Beside him, Adams cast a sympathetic glance before looking to the walls. Another rumble sent vibrations through the city.

"I don't get it," the large man admitted. "If they want Earth then why are they trying to destroy Atlantis?"

"Because they're only buildings," McKay said, numbly. "They know we can't all escape, that we'll be trying to wipe the information from the computer. They're trying to stop us anyway they can." He thought again of Ashcroft, Miko and Peter, then of his teammates, of Teyla and Aiden and Sheppard, divided and spread across the city.

Sheppard said it wasn't real. The logic made sense, but at that moment, McKay couldn't believe it.

* * *

The control room was a mess. 

On the lower level, in front of the shimmering Stargate, a crowd of Athosians, scientists and soldiers piled through the event horizon, accompanied by any supplies never unpacked from their crates. Weapons, food, medical supplies. The amounts were meager, particularly when compared to the numbers of people escaping to the Alpha Site.

Sheppard moved along the upper deck, switching his gaze continually between the melee below and the bank of computer consoles ahead. Elizabeth stood outside of the group, a few meters from her office door. She was watching the scientists, her face drawn and tired looking, a moment of vulnerability when she thought no one was looking. The second she saw Sheppard her expression changed, her fears hidden behind a mask of cold determination, and Sheppard wondered, is it that good? Can it be that real?

He moved towards her but paused at Grodin's station, clapping his hand on the Brit's shoulder and making him jump. "How's it going?"

Grodin was usually unflappable, a source of calm even when a crisis called for a panicked rush. He settled in seconds, turning his head briefly to acknowledge Sheppard's presence before returning his attention to the laptop sat on the surface of an Ancient control console.

Sheppard craned over Peter's shoulder and looked at the screen. Lines of binary data scrolled up and down, reminding him of the instruction base the guide had displayed back in the game.

"You know what you're doing?"

He expected McKay's line of sarcasm, but Grodin simply replied: "It's a precise job, but yes."

"Precise?"

"Released loose the virus would wreak havoc on primary systems and take too long to destroy the most valuable data. By selectively applying it to the three main memory banks we can focus its efforts." The Brit's hand rose briefly from the keys and gestured at the screen. "It's like sending a virus direct to a server, rather than distributing it across websites, understand?"

Sheppard didn't, but wasn't about to admit it. "McKay's got you on the stabilizers?"

Peter nodded. "There's a danger of the virus destroying our ability to operate the stabilizers through the computer, and there is not enough time to do it manually. It must be the last thing done before Rodney inputs the virus into the control centre, and we lose 'gate control." He smiled, but it looked forced. "It's just a matter of timing."

Sheppard glanced towards the doors of the control room, where Bates was directing his men to protect all entrances. "We'll watch your back," he promised.

Peter nodded, but he wouldn't look up. "It's appreciated, Major."

"Major Sheppard."

Elizabeth was walking towards them, a slight frown on her face. Around her scientists and soldiers scurried, carrying weapons, scanners, and laptops. "Where have you been?"

"Preparing the defenses," he lied.

She continued to frown, but a radio call interrupted her next question and she turned away from him before answering. "No, leave it. I know, doctor, but…." She paused, listening to the unknown scientist's plea. "Abandon it, doctor. That's an order." She dropped her hand and looked back at Sheppard, but said nothing, looking suddenly stricken.

"Elizabeth?"

"Carson," she said, simply.

The sick taste of bile was back in his mouth. "I know."

"They couldn't get to him. That whole section of the city is swarming with Wraith. We've lost more people on the upper levels, near the towers. They're shooting down the Jumpers we send for the Athosians." She blinked rapidly, and took a deep, shaky breath before continuing. "Dr Biro and some of the other medical staff are already at the Alpha site. I've ordered any wounded to be sent there."

He nodded. "Good idea."

She nodded again, uncertainly. Sheppard was suddenly struck by the knowledge that she was a civilian, and that while he was used to being denied the time to grieve, she was not.

Then, he thought, there would be no more time to grieve. Not for them.

"I keep expecting Rodney to pull a last minute trick out of his hat," she admitted.

Sheppard offered her his best smile, but it felt weak. "I think he holds off deliberately. Makes him look more impressive." He glanced back at Peter. "McKay given you his orders?"

Peter touched a hand to his radio. "Rodney, are you in touch?"

"_Aren't I always?"_ came back the reply, terse and irritable_. "Is there a problem?"_

The Brit shook his head, though McKay couldn't see it. "Just checking the time."

"Rodney." Elizabeth spoke into her radio. "Who else do you have down there?"

"_Ashcroft and Kusanagi are in the east and west wings, I'm heading to the memory drive of the control center."_

"And Radek?"

"_Zelenka should be with you already."_ The Canadian paused_. "You haven't seen him?"_

Weir glanced towards the Stargate. "No, Rodney."

Sheppard heard cursing over the radio_. "Dammit. I told him to get to the 'gate."_

"He's probably just held up," Peter offered. "The defense lines are moving, Rodney. He may have had to find another route."

"_Right, right. You're ready?"_

"Yes," Grodin replied, patiently.

"_Okay. Major, I'll need you to coordinate with Grodin. We can only start to sink the city at the last moment."_

"Sure," Sheppard drawled, more casually than he felt. "How long do you need?"

"Only minutes to start the process," Grodin answered. "Half the time for McKay to release the virus."

"I'll let you know."

"_Good. I'm almost at the memory banks. Let me know when you've disabled the stabilizers." _

The radio cut off, with a small click.

"After you've set the city sinking," Sheppard said, "you get to the 'gate."

Grodin nodded, but again he refused to meet Sheppard's eyes, concentrating on the computer. Sheppard watched him for a moment, but was aware of Elizabeth moving away and after a second followed, feeling lost.

She stood in the same spot he had occupied, on his leaving the mission briefing. Her hands were wrapped around the metal rail, just like his had been, and she stared at the Stargate blindly.

"Rodney won't make it back," she said, softly.

Not real, Sheppard told himself, screamed at himself, but outside he was calm, bottled up and cold. "No. He won't."

"Neither will most of the men out there." She folded her arms defensively across her chest. "This is my worst nightmare."

You have no idea, he thought, ruefully. "They're good men," he said, simply. "They'll fight to protect Earth."

She nodded. "I know."

He watched her for a moment, staring out at the Stargate, whilst another group of Athosians stepped through its shimmering surface. There were fewer refugees now, although a trickle of people were continuing to appear at the doors to the control room. The number of explosions rocking the city had decreased, and now an eerie sense of calm descended upon the space, as though he were watching the evacuation from a distance, a play watched from the circle.

A rattle of machine gunfire drew him abruptly back into the scene, and he turned towards the sound, aware of Elizabeth doing the same. There was a commotion in the corridor leading towards the living quarters from the upper level of the control room. The door had been kept open to allow evacuees and supplies to move quickly through it, but now it was hidden behind a line of soldiers and weaponry.

He moved quickly, running towards the area. Bates was already there and turned to him as he approached, shouting.

"We've got Wraith heading our way! Six and counting!"

Grimacing, he shouldered his gun and moved to the head of the group. He caught a glimpse of the corridor, and the shadow of a pale blue silhouette, white hair and a black coat. He released several rounds into the Wraith's direction, then pulled back as Bates stepped forward. The Sergeant threw a grenade down the corridor, and moved back as Sheppard hit the release for the door control, thinking, lock. The door slid shut quickly, and a second later he felt a deep rumble and heard the corridor vibrate, a wave of heat washing over him.

"_Major Sheppard!"_ He heard the voice of Sergeant Russell over the radio, the soldier barely restraining the panic from entering his voice._ "Sergeant Bates!"_

Bates glanced at him, and nodded, subtly.

Sheppard touched his radio. "Russell."

"_They've broken the outer defenses, Major. We've fallen back to the commissary. They're just beaming more and more into the city."_

"Hold your ground there, Sergeant." He glanced at Bates for a second time. "We'll get you back-up."

Bates nodded, and spoke into his own radio. "Airman Purlow, you read me?"

"_Aye, sir."_

"Take your men and head to the commissary. Sergeant Russell's holed up with some Wraith."

"_Aye sir, on our way."_

Sheppard nodded, and turned, moving back towards Weir. She was stood beside a scientist he didn't recognize, watching a computer screen flicker in the space above the console. On it was displayed a schematic of the city, the outer edges trimmed with red, the inner corridors speckled with blue dots, some moving, some clustered together and static.

"We're running out of time," she said, softly.

He said nothing for a moment, watching the dots shift and change on the screen.

"You should go through the Stargate."

"Not going to happen, Major." She lifted her head and looked at him. "Not before everyone here."

He thought about arguing, about forcing her, but realized the futility of it, and cut off his reply. "Alright."

"I'll need a weapon," she added, deliberately, a crooked smile on her face.

He clenched his jaw, hesitating. Elizabeth had been the first to volunteer for training, leading the way for the other civilians. McKay had, predictably, been the most reluctant. The thought of either of them taking on a Wraith prompted a wave of revulsion.

"Alright," he conceded, reluctantly. "But don't use it unless you have to. My men will protect the doors."

"I know." Her smile widened, but it felt brittle. "I have complete faith in you, Major."

There was a sudden, loud explosion from the corridor behind the locked door. Elizabeth's smile fell, and she turned towards the door, confirming it had held. Sheppard watched her for a moment, then looked back towards the computer.

On the screen, the small blue dots grew ever closer towards the city centre.

* * *

Aiden's arm had started to ache. Vibrations from his P90 traveled up from the gun, past his elbow and up to his shoulder. Shifting his right foot back another inch, he adjusted the balance between his body weight and the pressure of the gun as it fired round after round into the Wraith ahead. Five had turned into ten, and though Stackhouse's call for back-up had been heeded, the team still found themselves retreating, forced closer and closer to the city's center. 

He lifted the weapon higher and caught one of the tallest through the forehead. The Wraith crumpled to the ground, its black coat folding around it, dead or merely injured Aiden couldn't be sure. Its companions simply stepped over its body, wearing sharp toothed, hungry grins as they advanced upon the soldiers.

Another figure fell, but this one was dressed in greens. Airman Broderick, a Texan with a deep tan and a love of horses. Stackhouse and Golder grabbed the man by his shoulders and hauled him across the floor, as the group fell back further. Glancing at the stunned solider, Ford hit his radio.

"Teyla? Teyla, can you hear me?"

"_I hear you, Aiden. What is your position?"_

"We've got ten Wraith on top of us, Teyla. We won't be able to hold them off for much longer. How far behind us are you?"

"_Several corridors."_

"Can you use a transporter?"

"_They are not working."_

He swore, softly, and released another round into a Wraith that was about to fire on Stackhouse. "See if you can move any quicker. We're not going to…"

A stunner blast clipped his left side and, suddenly numb, his arm dropped away from the radio, his left leg threatening to fold beneath him. Managing to press himself against a wall, Ford fumbled with his right hand, torn between lowering his weapon and trying to reignite some feeling in his left side. Another blast answered the question for him and he hitched the weapon up onto his hip and fired. A Wraith to his right fell, body twitching against the floor.

There was an alarmed yell from the side and he turned, forcing his deadened body to cooperate. Denton was pinned into the corner between two walls, his gun clicking empty, pointed uselessly at a Wraith advancing upon him. With supreme effort Aiden managed to wrench his P90 around and sloppily aimed at the Wraith, squeezing the trigger. Several shots slammed into the alien's torso and made it stagger backwards, allowing Denton enough time to slip away from the corner and smack the alien across the back with the butt of his gun. Patel, seeing the man in trouble, joined his side and together the pair neatly took out the Wraith, battering it to the floor.

Satisfied that for the moment both men were holding their own, Ford gave his numb body another shove against the wall so he could face the other way.

A Wraith, its hair braided into a long ponytail, stood barely inches away from him. It slammed its hand against Aiden's chest and pressed him back against the wall, bending low over the human.

Futilely he tried to struggle, to raise the P90, to operate his numb left hand and grasp the knife in his belt. His hand refused to cooperate, and the weapon dropped to the floor. Its face pressed close to his, the Wraith grinned, revealing two rows of glittering teeth and an oozing black mouth. A cold, harsh pain spread across Aiden's chest, crushing all breath from his lungs and spreading into his arms, his legs, his face. His skin felt as though it were aflame, crackling under an invisible heat. Distantly he could still hear the sound of weapons fire, and a loud, pathetic rasping in his ears, the sounds of his own labored breath.

So this is what it's like, he thought, above the pounding in his head and the ice in his chest. Aging, hair growing gray, skin wrinkling, cataracts forming. It hurt, more than anything he could ever have imagined, driving all thought from him until only one image remained – his home, his grandparents, his cousins.

The Wraith continued to smile, pressing itself over Aiden, darkness creeping around his vision. Two slits of yellow eyes bore into him, and as Aiden felt his body wither around him, his mind screamed.

* * *

"Lieutenant Ford? Aiden, please, come in!" 

Teyla paused, listening intently to the radio. She heard gunfire, the sounds of someone - possibly Stackhouse - shouting, but Aiden did not answer her and after several seconds the radio cut off completely.

Shaken, it was only when Facaros spoke that Teyla could bring herself to turn around.

"We need to move. If the Wraith have got past Stackhouse and Ford then they'll find us next."

She nodded, stiffly. The silence from Ford seemed deafening, and she was still haunted by the cries of Carson.

Sharel stood beside her, looking intently towards the corridor before them. She spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you feel them?"

Teyla hesitated, reaching out with her mind, aware of whispers, of a prickle down her spine, like expecting thunder after a bolt of lightning. She looked towards the corner of the corridor and caught a glimpse of something moving. A shadow, a play of gray against the walls. A flicker of something cold and dangerous, the air sighing.

A stunner blast took out the soldier to her right, the man crumpling bonelessly to the ground. Facaros released a volley of gunfire and a figure, dressed in black and surrounded by a halo of white hair, fell lifelessly to the floor.

Teyla was suddenly intensely aware of the people behind her. Women, children, and scientists, huddled between the front line and the back, Facaros instructing his men to forge a path while they covered the group's rear. She could feel their fear, adrenaline pumping through her veins, making her hyper aware of every stifled gasp, every twitch of movement from the corridor. Facaros had stilled his weapon and for several long moments the space was silent, expectant.

Again she reached out with her mind. The whispers were louder, but coming from all around, and she was unable to pin them down to a specific direction. The Wraith were still there, she was certain of it - the one dead on the floor had not been alone.

Silently, Facaros directed his men to start leading the group of evacuees towards the city center. With one eye he watched them move away, slowly, keeping the rest of his attention trained on the corridor.

Teyla watched him take a step forward, and opened her mouth to protest. He cut her off with a wave of his hand, then dipped the weapon towards the corridor corner.

The whispers changed, like the tide, a subtle but deadly difference. She tried to reach out to Facaros, horribly aware of what was about to happen.

The soldier wasn't. The look on his face as the Wraith slammed him into the wall was one of pure shock. He had no time to aim his weapon, the alien turning the corner so quickly Facaros was denied any chance at defense. Teyla was quicker, releasing three bullets into the Wraith's head and neck, the creature falling back with a spray of green blood and an animalistic cry. Facaros slipped to his knees, his face white but un-aged, and he shook as Teyla hauled him to his feet.

"What…"

"Get back," she told him, pushing him towards the group and turning back towards the corridor, releasing another volley of weapon fire. Sharel grabbed the man by his arm but he pushed her away, rubbing a trembling hand across his face before visibly gathering his strength.

"Teyla…"

"There are more," she told him, taking a step backwards. "This was just a scout. We have to move quickly."

He nodded, snapping hand gestures at his men before resuming his position at her side. "Thanks."

She nodded but didn't reply. Around them the city rumbled, as though in protest at the invasive force swarming through its halls.

Sharel looked about at the walls around them, distressed. "The city does not want us to abandon it."

"The feeling is mutual," Facaros said, fervently.

Teyla only half listened to them. She considered radioing Ford again, felt the sudden desire to speak to Sheppard, to hear McKay's familiar babble. They had gated back to Atlantis when they should not have been able, proof, Sheppard claimed, that they were still trapped in the computer. But this did not feel like a game. Her inner doubts had gone, replaced by fear - for her people, for Earth, for the soldiers and scientists who fought to protect their home. For the future of the Pegasus Galaxy, without the City of the Ancestors to protect it.

And fear for herself. Again she felt the desire to turn and run, but she clamped down on it, knowing that she couldn't. Knowing that given the choice, she wouldn't.

Behind her the group of evacuees moved further away, and Facaros' men moved with them. They were still too far from the Stargate, at risk of attack from both sides. If they were to reach safety…

"They are coming," Sharel breathed.

There was a flash of something dark flitting across the corridor, but Facaros had learnt his lesson and didn't even twitch. He was prepared when the first Wraith rounded the corner, and fired a round into its chest, sending it staggering backwards into a second.

Teyla took out a third, but not before a fourth had flown across the corridor and slammed into Sharel. The Athosian defended herself with a flurry of sticks, moving faster than Teyla had ever seen, knocking the Wraith to the floor where its skull was smashed against the ground. A fifth and sixth leapt upon two of soldiers, too close for a single shot to be fired, slamming the men into the walls. She heard bones snap, heard muffled yelps and a scream of agony but had no time to seek the origin.

Another Wraith tried to launch itself at her. She shot three bullets into its chest but it continued to lurch forward, towering above her, its white hair pulled back from its forehead revealing glittering yellow eyes. Temporarily lowering the weapon, she grabbed for her knife, pulling it free of its sheath and slashing from left to right, through leather and flesh. The Wraith howled angrily, and struck out with one arm, smacking her against the wall. Winded, Teyla pushed herself upright only to be forced back, the Wraith pressing against her chest with an elbow, so close she could feel its blood drip against her face.

She was aware of a muffled explosion, close to her chest, and felt a spray of something warm across her abdomen. The Wraith staggered backwards, looking down at the exit wound in its belly with an expression of confusion, before dropping to the floor, dead. Turning, Teyla caught Facaros' eye and nodded her thanks.

"Just returning the favor," he told her, with a grin. Then a stunner blast took out the man next to him and he turned away, weapon firing.

Teyla could hear her people scream, could hear footsteps running away down the corridor behind her. The space was too small, the going too slow. Several children were crying, and she could hear both male and female voices, crying out in their panic. The soldier's numbers were decreasing, eight men down to four, including herself. She counted four Wraith dead, but the corridor was filling with more and they continued to retreat, pressed backwards, struggling to keep the tide away from the city center.

Without help, the Wraith would finish them off, and continue on to devour the evacuees.

A swell of hot rage suddenly flooded across her, Teyla's fingertips tingling as they gripped the metal of the P90. Taking a step forward, she fired into the oncoming Wraith, hitting several in the chest or arms, before the chamber rattled and made an empty sounding 'click.' Grabbing another chamber from her belt, Teyla briefly dropped her gaze from the battlefield only to have something cold and heavy knock into her side and force her to the floor. The bullets lost from her fingers, she released her grip on the gun and lifted her knife, swiping blindly at the dark shape pressed on top of her. It delivered a sharp blow to her chest, breaking a rib, and gasping she fought back, driving the weapon forward with greater force. A second later she was rewarded with a howl and the body slumping over hers, its blood mingling with her own. The sudden pressure against her injured ribs almost caused her to pass out, and it was only in a final battle against the gray that she managed to roll out from under the Wraith's body, gasping and twitching against the floor.

Shakily pushing herself upright, Teyla paused, turning. Sharel lay on the floor several meters away, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle, her eyes open and staring.

Behind her, someone screamed. The voice was young, and fragile, and broke off abruptly. Not a soldier, she realized. Not a warrior. The Wraith were attacking the evacuees.

There were footsteps, making the floor vibrate behind her head. She twisted, ignoring the protest from her ribs, sweeping the knife low and slicing into ankles. The Wraith staggered backwards, allowing her time to get to her feet, one arm wrapped supportively around her chest, the other holding out the knife defensively.

Pulling itself forward, the Wraith moved towards her, its face twisted into a snarl. Gasping a little, Teyla stepped back, aware of a flurry of movement ahead. Of Facaros, the only one left standing from his men, pressed against a wall by a Wraith, hungry for its second chance at feeding.

She saw him stare at her, his eyes wide, his hands desperately struggling against the Wraith's attack before falling limp. Something small and dark fell from his fingers and rolled across the floor towards her.

Tearing her gaze away from the Wraith, Teyla swiped ahead of her, forcing the alien to step backwards to avoid the blade, and used the moment to slip past and scoop the object up from the floor.

Down the corridor, she saw the last of her people disappear around a corner, guarded by two lone soldiers and hounded by a single Wraith.

"You!"

It turned and stared at her. Desperately, Teyla made one last attempt to reach out mentally and touched the hive mind, forcing the Wraith's attention on her, challenging the cold, even as tendrils of something rotting and foul wrapped itself around her.

The Wraith behind her had recovered enough to slam her into the wall, so hard she could feel her ribs grinding against each other. She tasted blood, but felt triumphant, aware of the second Wraith turning away from the fleeing evacuees. Still she touched the hive mind, luring it closer, allowing the darkness to close over her.

On the other side of the room, the withered corpse of Sergeant Facaros dropped to the floor, nothing but ash and bone.

The Wraith crowded around her, trapping Teyla into the corner between two walls.

Her fingers curled around the pin of the grenade.

She smiled.

* * *

"Another explosion in the east section of the city," Grodin reported tersely. "A couple of blocks down from the Jumper Bay." 

Sheppard looked across at the display of the city silhouette. The area highlighted by Peter was shaded in red, joining a third of the city map in color. Both the north and south towers had fallen, Wraith darts taking suicide runs at the structures. Two of the generators were down, with power loss to most of the west side.

"How many people are still out there?"

Elizabeth looked up from where she was speaking to a blonde haired marine. "Twelve of the science crew is still unaccounted for, and I'm not sure how many Athosians the last puddle jumper brought. What about your men?"

He glanced at Bates, who was still trying to secure a door on the top deck. "We've lost contact with Blake and Rusby."

She nodded, her jaw clenched tightly. "The others?"

Sheppard tapped his ear piece. "Sergeant Facaros, come in." He paused. "Sergeant Stackhouse. Lieutenant Ford."

He was aware of Elizabeth watching him intently, and he tried again, refusing to allow desperation to enter his voice. "Lieutenant Ford. Teyla, can you hear me?"

Peter had paused in his attention to the computer, looking up at Sheppard expectantly.

"If anyone on the outer defenses can hear this…"

A sudden, impossibly loud explosion burst out from the deck above them. Sheppard turned in time to see Bates and several marines thrown back by the force of the blast, the doorway consumed by smoke and flame. Through this appeared several tall, dark shadows.

"Top deck!" he screamed, running from Grodin's station, up the stairs to Bates' position. The marine was lying on the floor, unconscious, stunner fallen from his grip. Behind him, Sheppard heard the booted run of several soldiers joining him, aware of a rattle of gunfire and fired his own weapon towards the Wraith.

The first two fell, but there were two more behind them, one falling to weapons fire but the other taking out a soldier with a stunner. Sheppard flinched from the blast and took a step back, unable to stop two more Wraith from slipping through the doorway, using the cover of smoke to avoid being hit.

A second explosion on the lower deck had him turning, looking back toward the 'gate. The Wraith had penetrated their defenses at another spot, soldiers instantly taking up position across from the smoking hole.

Near the computer the scientists were ducking, clinging to their stations and consoles determinedly. Elizabeth stood amongst them, looking across to Sheppard with an expression of something approaching defiance.

"Get everyone to the 'gate," he shouted, "the center's been breached."

She nodded and turned away, directing the scientists. Grodin continued to sit at his station, and Sheppard turned quickly, finding Airman Morris and sending the man to guard over the scientist.

He ducked behind a console, hitting his radio. "McKay! You'd better be ready with this virus because we've run out of time!"

There was a pause before the scientist answered, and for one horrible moment Sheppard faced the idea that McKay was dead, that their hope for saving Earth was lost.

"_You know, you should really warn me before shouting down the radio. You nearly deafened me."_

He sagged in relief, and allowed some of his fear to well over into frustration. "Not the time, McKay. We've got Wraith near the Stargate. If we're going to sink the city…"

"_I know, I know,"_ the scientist interrupted_. "I'm in position."_

There was another explosion from the upper deck. Someone had dragged Bates and the other unconscious soldiers out of the way, and the area now paved way for a battleground, an exchange of weapons fire between Wraith and humans. The air around the space rippled, shadows and light drawing attention away from the fight.

"Keep your eyes on the hole," Sheppard ordered, loudly. "They'll make you see things that aren't there."

His warning came too late for one marine, his identity disguised by smoke. Sheppard caught a glimpse of green camouflage moving after a flicker of shadow but before he could stop the younger man, the soldier had walked into the path of a Wraith and was slammed against the wall, the alien's hand flat on the man's chest.

Three bullets from his gun killed the Wraith, but Sheppard was unable to save the marine. His aged body crumpled to the floor, sliding behind a console and out of sight.

"John!"

He turned. Several Wraith from the lower decks had made their way up their staircase and were now trying to attack the fleeing scientists. He caught a glimpse of Elizabeth, dark hair and red uniform, in the midst of the melee and forced his way back down to the group, yelling for back-up. Three soldiers pulled away from their guard of the perimeter to join him, P90s blazing. Several of the lights had gone, the room descending into a semi darkness filled with smoke and shadows.

A console, exploding from a misaimed stunner blast, temporarily lit the scene. A tall, leather clad Wraith with long, braided hair had Weir pushed up against a railing, close to pushing her over the edge. Desperately Sheppard fought forward, trying to get a clear shot but having his view blocked by smoke and panicked scientists. He saw her struggle, saw her flail uselessly against the alien's strength even as it pressed one hand flat against her chest.

There wasn't time. Sheppard screamed for support, screamed for the Wraith to turn and face him but his words were lost in the overwhelming noise of battle and when Elizabeth cried out, her face contorted with pain, he never heard her plea.

Forcing aside a scientist roughly he managed to reach the balcony, but meters were as good as miles. Elizabeth was aging before his eyes, her hair turning gray, then as white as the Wraith's, her body curling in on itself, her skin withering and darkening in seconds. He was aware of her eyes, looking up at him, staring at him across the space just as Sumner had, a brief moment of recognition and then desperately begging…

He fired a single, clean shot. It skimmed the Wraith's shoulder and hit Elizabeth in the forehead.

Sheppard shut down.

Ford wasn't responding, likely dead. The explosion near the Jumper Bay had come from Teyla's position. McKay was trapped in the lower levels of Atlantis and even if protected from the Wraith, he had no way of reaching the Stargate and escaping the sinking city. Elizabeth…

Elizabeth was gone, her body tossed aside by the disgusted Wraith.

Fighting continued on the upper section. The three soldiers that had joined Sheppard's struggle to protect the scientists had managed to take out their remaining attackers and were now ushering the group down the steps to the glimmering event horizon.

The Stargate. Sheppard was aware of the ripple of light it cast on the floor and walls, reflecting off the computer displays even amidst the smoke. There was no way, he told himself, no way they could have gated home with Grodin dialing out. No way this was possible.

But his gun was still warm from the shot he had used to kill Weir. And the smell of gunpowder, and smoke, melting plastic and blood… that was real.

And the look she had given her, the desperate plea, the fear and pain… the brief expression of blissful relief as the bullet had passed clean through her brain…

Peter still sat at his station, concentrating on his console as the battle raged around him. Sheppard spotted Morris struggling with a Wraith barely meters from the Englishman's position, and forced his way back up to the scientist. A stunner blast took out a glass display to his left, sending shards into his hip and side. He turned, firing a round into the perpetrator, a shorter Wraith with a wide smile on its face. Blood trickled warmly down his leg but he ignored it, concentrating on reaching Peter, on protecting the only thing he had left – Earth.

His attention had not gone unnoticed. One Wraith, its right eye gone and its face marred by a deep scar running from jaw line to forehead, stood in the space just outside Weir's office and lifted his stunner. Sheppard was unaware, running for the scientist, his hand reaching for his radio to call McKay…

The Wraith shifted its stunner a fraction, aimed, and fired. A burst of red energy enveloped a startled Peter and he pitched forward, face first, into the console.

* * *

An explosion made the ceiling above McKay's head rattle. He glanced upwards instinctively, but when the sky didn't fall on him he pressed onwards, running down the corridor and picking up speed. 

Adams and O'Brien were dead.

He'd seen the Wraith, waiting in the corridor between himself and the room housing the control backup. Four dots on the life signs detector. Adams had been confident, relying on the element of surprise over numbers. Instructing the scientist to remain behind them, the two soldiers had crept up on the unaware Wraith and taken out one, injuring two more, before a single return shot had been fired.

It wasn't enough. McKay couldn't shake the image of O'Brien, thrown against a crate, his head hitting metal and leaving a smear of bright red blood as he slipped to the floor. With one soldier down, likely dead, McKay had pulled out his own gun and started firing, indiscriminately - at the Wraith, at the walls, at the lights, the corridor descending into darkness.

He hadn't seen Adams die, but the man's scream had been loud enough. Suddenly alone and outnumbered, two to one, McKay had panicked and burst through the small space to the corridor beyond. He thought the lights off and moved on memory only, stumbling occasionally over unseen boxes and corners. He had no idea whether the Wraith were following, or whether he had lost them in the dark, terrified of using the scanner in case its light betrayed his whereabouts.

In his haste he almost missed the door for the lab, and had to turn back on himself, hitting the door panel and ducking inside. He thought the door locked, and watched it slide shut, the process seeming to take forever. It was only once safely inside the lab that he switched the lights on, blinking in the sudden brightness.

A single Wraith stared at him from the floor beside his feet.

McKay released a short scream and leapt backwards, hitting the wall. His breath coming in short gasps, he stared back at the Wraith, taking in the pool of green blood, and the misshapen lump which had once been its arm. It was dead, but killed recently. There were scorch marks on the floor around the body, pieces of blackened glass and the sour smell of a Molotov cocktail.

"_McKay!"_

He yelped for a second time, and bumped into a burnt computer console.

"_You'd better be ready with this virus because we've run out of time!" _

Shakily, Rodney hit the talk button on his radio, still staring at the dead Wraith. "You know, you should really warn me before shouting down the radio. You nearly deafened me."

"_Not the time, McKay,"_ Sheppard growled, warningly_. "We've got Wraith near the Stargate. If we're going to sink the city…"_

"I know, I know." He pushed himself away from the wall and stepped over the Wraith, desperately trying not to notice the way its blank eyes seemed to follow him. "I'm in position."

"_Rodney,"_ Grodin spoke_, "Let me know when you're ready."_ Weapons fire and explosions could be heard over the radio.

"Will do," McKay responded, swallowing hard.

The main server providing memory and processing power to the central computer core stood in a bulky, square block of plastic moulded into the wall. Ahead of it sat a shorter, waist high console, its surface set with the hardened clear squares of Ancient design.

And a laptop.

McKay stared at the computer for a moment, before his gaze drifted to his own laptop, clutched under one arm. Hesitantly, he took a step forward, then another, his breath held, his feet ready to run.

A figure lay slumped beside the console, chin resting on his chest, eyes closed, so peaceful McKay might have believed he were sleeping had not half of Zelenka's face been splattered across the metal wall behind him.

He thought he should feel nauseous but was too tired, and said, wearily: "Of course."

Something glinted in the man's lap. Glasses, miraculously unbroken. McKay crossed the room on autopilot, leant down and picked them up with gentle fingers, folding them neatly and slipping them into his jacket pocket.

If anyone had asked, he couldn't have said why.

"So." He turned away from the ruined remains of his friend, and looked up at the mass of the command server. He took a deep breath, and heard it shake in his chest. "You never listen to me. Thinking you can do this so what, I can head to the 'gate?" He shook his head, dropping to his knees. His fingers found the edge of a panel lining one side of the server and slid beneath it, prising the metal cover away.

Sat behind his shoulder, Zelenka watched him work, his eyes unblinking.

"You always have to contradict me. If I tell Elizabeth we can get something fixed in thirty minutes, you'll ask for an hour. If I think we can reinitialize the purifiers with fifty percent power, you'll always want seventy five." Zelenka's laptop trailed wires onto the floor, cables already prepared by the Czech. Rodney picked up a yellow one and connected it to a silvery blue crystal in the depths of the computer bank.

He felt oddly detached, his fingers moving on autopilot, picking up the red wire, then the green, attaching them to the memory crystals easily. The laptop provided the interface; it was now only a matter of hooking his own computer up to the network and releasing the virus through the two into the server.

"I know your plan," he continued, conversationally. "You're like Scotty, from Star Trek, always quoting double the time so Elizabeth thinks you're a genius when you have it done in half." He paused for a moment, his hands coming to a standstill, hovering over the cables. "Not a bad idea, actually."

There was no reply from the Czech. McKay checked the connections one final time, oblivious to the slight electrical zap the server sent through his fingertips. "Most of them are idiots. But you – you're not as bad as the rest. If we'd had military ranks – well, I always considered you my second in command."

He paused again, his hands dropping to his knees, his head bowing. Taking a ragged breath, his voice broke. "I'm sorry, Radek."

The mechanical hum from the room's equipment seemed to mock him, underscored by rumbling from the city above. Taking another breath, McKay pushed himself to his feet and moved towards the desk, ignoring the smear of blood along its side. He pulled his laptop towards him and opened it up, fishing out a wire from its back and plugging it into a port on Zelenka's machine. Then he switched his on.

The second laptop chimed happily, a message appearing on screen to cheerfully announce it had recognized another computer on the network. McKay allowed himself a small smile.

"_McKay! McKay, can you hear me?"_

His grin faded. "Major Sheppard?"

The soldier sounded panicked, having to shout over the noise of gunfire. _"Grodin's been hit by a stunner blast. He's unconscious."_

McKay shuddered, his fingers clenching the edge of the bench. "Wake him up!"

"_Which bit of 'stunner blast' did you not understand, Rodney!"_ There was a loud explosion of noise, almost deafening, a burst of static followed by a frantic Sheppard: _"Can you do it?"_

He shook his head automatically. "It has to be done from Peter's station, the others have been disabled. Is the console alright?"

"_What?"_

"The computer, Major! If the blast hit the computer…"

"_No,"_ Sheppard interrupted, quickly. _"The computer is fine."_

McKay licked his lips nervously. "Good. Tell me what you see."

"_What?"_

"You'll have to do it, Major."

"_McKay, in case you haven't noticed, me and computers don't play well together."_

"It's fine," he snapped, "I'll walk you through it. Now tell me what you see!"

There was a slight pause. _"There's a number of blue boxes on the left hand side of the screen. I think it's a computer menu, but it's all in Ancient."_

"I always knew Elizabeth should have made those classes compulsory," McKay muttered. He closed his eyes, trying to recall an image of Grodin's station. "What does the top one look like?"

"_A square, with a horizontal line through the middle. Then a circle with a triangle in it. Then a…"_ There was another burst of noise, and McKay heard Sheppard curse. _"There's no time for this!"_

"It's alright," he replied, sounding more confident than he felt. "I know what you're looking at. You want the third box down, the one with the three horizontal lines over a circle."

"_Got it."_ Sheppard's voice seemed tight, through pain or desperation McKay couldn't tell._ "The screen's changed – I've got four blue boxes now, in the center."_

"Click the top left," he said, carefully, then immediately panicked. "No! Top right, top right!"

"_McKay…"_

"I'm doing this by memory, Major, so cut me some slack!" He panted, heavily. Sweat slicked his hands and ran in a small rivulet down his back. He lifted his chin and glanced at the doorway to the lab, expecting a Wraith assault at any second. "You should see a schematic of the city basement. There are six stabilizers, but you only need to disable the four on the western end to tip the city. They look like square boxes, but with a semicircular piece on one side."

"_I've got them. I…"_

Again Sheppard broke off, and this time the interruption came from a staccato rattle of gunfire. McKay had to fight the urge to rip the radio from his ear, wincing at the volume and holding out until a breathless Major returned.

"_Sorry. Wraith on top of me. Four on the eastern end?"_

"Western end!" he squeaked. His hands ran across his laptop's keyboard, bringing up a sensor measurement of the city's position in the water around it. "Just click on them, and when the computer prompts you, click the right hand option. This cuts the power to the stabilizers."

"_Right. How long then until…"_

"Until we're all finding Nemo? Five minutes, maybe six. It depends how long the city can withstand the pressure."

"_Then you'll release the virus?"_

"Yes, Major." He paused, imagining Sheppard trying to operate Grodin's machine, trying to visualize the Wraith, attacking the gate room. He was struck by a cold thought, his gut clenching in grim realization. "Elizabeth?"

"_Dead."_ The answer was terse and emotionless. _"A few scientists have made it through the 'gate but we can't get any more through the inner perimeter."_ He paused, briefly. _"I've got the first pair of stabilizers done. Just doing the third…"_

"Right. Good." McKay watched the readings on his computer fluctuate, warning signs flashing across the screen in red. "So, still think this isn't real?"

"_Third done."_ Again Sheppard paused. _"I don't know, McKay."_

"No." He sighed, deeply. "Neither do I."

A sudden thump at the laboratory door made his head jerk upwards. He could hear something moving behind the entrance, something heavy hitting the wall.

"Ah, Major…"

"_Yes, McKay?"_

"It's been fun, hasn't it?"

"_This?"_ There was another burst of weapons fire. Someone in the distance screamed. _"Yeah."_ Then, _"Fourth stabilizer going offline…"_

The radio cut off, abruptly. McKay ripped the device off his neck, holding it up to his face and pressing the talk button desperately. "Major Sheppard? Major Sheppard, come in!"

There was no response. His gut clenched, a shiver creeping down his spine. Dropping the radio to the tabletop McKay stared at the computer screen, willing it to change. A new red warning appeared, outlined in black and covered in exclamation marks. He used the mouse to close it, and stared at the readings, his breath held.

The readout monitoring the city's balance against gravity slipped into the negative. There was a sudden creaking sound, and McKay felt the ground shift beneath him, the movement threatening to knock him off balance and sending a pen and an empty glass beaker sliding off the tabletop to smash onto the floor.

Hauling himself upright using the bench as support, McKay dragged his laptop back around to face him and thrust his hands over the keys, his fingers flying. Into the laptop hard drive to access the virus, into the network between the two laptops to pass it from one to the other. Around him the city continued to creak and groan. In its basement four of the great, churning wheels which served to float the enormous ship ground to a halt. Slowly, but with increasing speed, Atlantis started to sink.

McKay ignored it, his attention captured by the virus and its movement from Zelenka's laptop into the heart of the command center's memory server. He quickly switched displays on his own laptop, watching the readings for the city as the virus did its work. Warning after warning filled his screen, corrupted files, deleted data, conflicting storage. The statistics flickered and grew before his eyes; thirty thousand files corrupted, one hundred thousand, one million. Stargate addresses, gone, the transporters failed.

He experimentally though the lights 'off.' They extinguished immediately, but refused to switch back when he told them to, leaving the room shrouded in shadow and the dim glow from the computer. He looked back towards the screen; heating gone, DHD control lost, stabilizers collapsed, the city sinking like a stone and rattling hideously. Metal groaned around him, threatening to break under pressure. A sudden bang from behind him signaled a burst air vent, water spraying into the room.

Back to the display screen: life signs detector gone, mission files wiped, the shield destroyed, the doors…

"Oh, crap."

McKay turned in time to see the door to the laboratory slide open. It caught halfway and stuck, but was enough to allow a single Wraith through and he had to dart back behind the computer console to avoid being hit by a stunner blast.

He cowered against the console, fumbling as he pulled a gun from his belt. The Wraith stalked into the center of the room, pausing over the body of its fallen brethren. He could hear it breathe, a harsh, rattling sound, underscored by the soft chafing of leather against leather.

Around him the city continued to shake. He could hear distant crashing, muffled sounds of windows smashing and metal twisting and bending beneath the sudden weight. He imagined it as seen from the outside, the great, silver city of Atlantis sinking beneath the waves, its balconies submerged beneath green and gray, its lights sputtering and dying.

The Wraith had stared to move, scouting out the room in a clockwise direction. Slowly McKay levered himself onto his knees and looked across to the half open doorway. Water continued to spray into the room from the burst vent, creating a lake on the smooth marble floor. Sparks bounced onto its surface from the burnt remains of a computer console, hissing and popping loudly.

He stared at it, mesmerized.

The Wraith had stopped moving again, and was silent. Rodney considered looking behind him, then thought better of it, pressing his back against the wall and readying himself to move.

Not all of Sheppard's training had been wasted. He listened carefully for the tread of the Wraith as it took a step forward, for the swish of leather as the alien hefted the stunner upwards. Adrenaline filled him, making his senses sing, his muscles taut in readiness.

There was the very faint sound of an energy discharge as the Wraith closed its hand over the trigger.

McKay pushed himself onto his feet and ran, lunging for the pool. The stunner blast hit the wall he had been pressed against and he heard the Wrath utter a growl of annoyance.

"There is no where to run to."

He sank to his knees behind another lab bench, aware of water soaking through his pant legs. "No," he admitted, over his shoulder, panting heavily. "But I think that's the same for you, too."

"Perhaps." The Wraith took a step toward McKay's hiding place. "Unimportant. I will feed on you before your end."

McKay swallowed, his throat dry and tight. "I don't think so," he managed, then shot out from behind the bench.

The Wraith followed, running after him, stunner discarded. He heard it cackle, a low, animalistic sound and McKay restrained himself from a hysterical laugh. He caught a glimpse of black leather swirling behind him, almost slipped on the wet marble and reached out to grab a power cable leading from the memory banks to the wall.

With supreme effort, McKay yanked the cable from its grounding and plunged it into the water by his feet.

Above the sound of his own flesh burning and the pain of being consumed by an electric blue fire, McKay heard the Wraith scream.

He smiled, before darkness took them both.

* * *

"_So, still think this isn't real?"_

Sheppard paused, watching the image of the city shift and change as the third stabilizer went offline. "Third done." He took a breath, listening to the scientist pant down the radio. "I don't know, McKay."

The control room was filled with smoke. Several consoles were ablaze, victim to stunner blasts and explosives. Most of the scientists had escaped through the wormhole but others lay dead or unconscious amidst the ruins, joined by the fallen bodies of soldiers. Men and women Sheppard knew, liked, respected. Some he knew less well, all that he had great pride in. Wraith continued to struggle past the defenses, held back by only a handful of survivors. Desperation tinged the air and tasted sour.

"_No. Neither do I."_

He curled his hand briefly into a fist before reaching for the final stabilizer and touching the screen. It flashed a warning at him, which he dismissed, his fingers pressing against the screen.

"_Ah, Major…"_

Sheppard closed his eyes for a second, listening to the sounds of gunfire around him. "Yes, McKay?"

"_It's been fun, hasn't it?"_

He opened his eyes to see a Wraith stood on the steps, taking aim with his stunner. Lifting his P90, he fired several rounds into the creature's chest and watched it fall down the stairs.

"This?" The Wraith hit the bottom of the floor and lay still. Sheppard smiled, grimly. "Yeah."

The computer screen bleeped a warning at him, another flash of red. He could feel its urgency, Atlantis protesting at this treatment, at the damage done to her shell, at the virus already ripping through her insides, at the act of betrayal Sheppard had taken in sending her back to the sea.

"Fourth stabilizer going offline," he said, into the radio. It continued to flash at him, a burst of red across the blue, a burst of red…

The powerful, bright splash of a stunner shot hit the wall just behind his head and another computer console fizzled into darkness. Pushing his weight onto his injured hip Sheppard staggered forward, narrowly avoiding a second shot. The sound of gunfire was fading, consumed by the loud shriek of a klaxon as Atlantis proclaimed her doom. Pushing another clip into the gun, Sheppard took aim at the Wraith chasing him and managed to clip its shoulder, temporarily stalling it but not taking it down.

Around him the lights flickered and went out. The Stargate, sat at the base of the stairs, now provided the only light source. The silvery glow from the event horizon spilled across the room, promising salvation. Sheppard stared at it, watching as it winked out of existence. The chevrons surrounding it glowed briefly, then faded, powerless.

The virus, he realized, belatedly. McKay had slotted the final piece into the puzzle and taken out the core systems of Atlantis – including 'gate control.

Blood soaked his pant leg, his left side burning with pain from the shards of glass still embedded into his skin. He ignored it, pushing it aside ruthlessly, staggering down the stairs. It no longer mattered where he was going, it was no longer necessary to protect the Stargate, to keep the Wraith on the other side of the door. They had come from Earth to discover the city of the Ancients, to use all its secrets and make the myth of Atlantis a reality. He had come to protect the civilians in their mission of exploration. Now the civilians were dead, or had fled, and Atlantis was sinking, torn apart by the pressure of the sea beneath which it had hidden for thousands of years.

Smoke was filling the room, making it near impossible to see, but the white hair of the Wraith stood out clearly. He lifted his P90 and took out another target, not pausing to see where it fell. Leaning heavily on the rail of the stairs, Sheppard made his way down to the Stargate, almost stumbling as he stepped onto the ground.

Behind the Stargate a tall, irregularly shaped triangle of material had been cut into the wall, and filled with a blue glass portioned by thin slices of metal in a pretty, church-like effect. On a clear, warm day sunlight spilled through the glass and filled the room with a tranquil, sapphire blue. Now, with the city sinking into the depths, the glass was a murky dark green color, with flashes of black as something drifted past the plummeting city.

A crack had appeared on the bottom edge of the window and was creeping quickly across its surface. Sheppard stared at it, and smiled.

Around him Atlantis continued to groan and creak. He heard air ducts above him burst open, heard metal struts bend beneath the weight. Sheppard could feel the pressure on his body, pressing down on his shoulders and ribs, across his head and neck. The floor trembled beneath him. Even the Wraith had noticed, breaking off from their assault to peer through the smoke at the city around them.

"You."

Lazily Sheppard turned, his back to the glass window. A Wraith faced him, seven foot tall, with translucent gray skin and white hair swept back from a high forehead. Its yellow eyes stared at him, a smile on its face, revealing sharp teeth and saliva.

"Me," Sheppard said, casually, hefting his P90.

The Wraith glanced at the weapon and snorted, contemptuously. "You have lost. We have the city."

"In case you haven't noticed," he replied, leaning slightly to the right to relieve some of the pain on his left, "the city's not going to be around for that much longer."

The Wraith's smile widened. "Fool. It does not matter if we die, or if the city is lost. You will give up your home to us, and we will give this knowledge to our people. We will have a new feeding ground."

Sheppard yawned theatrically. "Yeah, yeah. You guys always love to play the pantomime villain."

"When I am done with you," the Wraith hissed, "you will give up everything you have to make me stop."

Thinking of Sumner, Sheppard lifted his chin and replied, coldly: "Probably. But you're not going to get the chance."

"You cannot escape."

"Oh," he breezed, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

The glass behind him split, and burst open. A torrent of water and broken metal erupted through the opening and forced its way past the Stargate, sweeping Sheppard of his feet and consuming him in a raging current. The noise of water was horrendous, a thundering that filled his ears and head and sent him tumbling. Water filled his mouth, his nose, his ears; everything was gray, blue, gray. He hit something hard, lost his grip on the P90, choked instinctively against the cold seeping down his throat and into his lungs.

"_Still think this isn't real?"_

He smiled, weakly, at McKay's voice, as his chest heaved and burnt, gasping for oxygen that wasn't there and filling with only seawater. Salt lay thick on his tongue and there was a pounding in his ears, gray filling his vision.

"_I don't know, McKay."_

"_No. Neither do I."_

* * *

_A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. I think there should be another two chapters to go on this, and then we're done. No character deaths, remember!_


	22. Lemon Soaked Paper Napkins

Chapter Twenty Two - Lemon Soaked Paper Napkins

There was darkness.

A rose colored, pinkish sort of darkness. Sheppard stared at it, mesmerized, watching vague, brown smudges float across its surface at irregular intervals. There was noise, a distant, rumbling sound. It was muffled, but growing clearer, as though he were floating beneath a great ocean, and slowly rising to the surface.

Water. He frowned. Water, and drowning, and…

Oh.

Sheppard opened his eyes.

Teyla's face hovered above him, her expression of worry giving way to one of intense relief. "Major. You're alright?"

"Yeah." His throat felt rough and parched. "I think so."

From somewhere beside him he heard McKay rasp: "Aside from the headache."

"Headache?" He frowned, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, with Teyla's hand at his back supporting him. As soon as he was half-vertical, pain blossomed across his forehead, sharp spikes behind his eyes at the bright light around them. "Ow. Okay. That headache."

Slowly, blinking against the light, Sheppard started to take in his surroundings. The floors and the walls were white, and scored with black lines in a grid pattern. A stone bench ran across the wall behind his head, and a darkened window overlooked the back of the room. Thin, fading tendrils of white mist were evaporating into the air.

A grin spread across his face, and he felt giddy with relief. "We're in the outpost."

"It worked," Aiden said, crouching beside McKay. His eyes seemed bright, his skin an ill-looking gray color.

"You hope," McKay muttered. He sat on the floor awkwardly, staring at his hands, laid palm down on his lap.

Sheppard watched him for several seconds, then looked away, fixing his gaze on Teyla's shoulder. He was aware he was trembling, and took a deep breath, forcing his body to still. "Everyone's okay?"

Teyla nodded, moving back to allow him to stand. "What happened - Atlantis…"

"Part of the game," Sheppard finished.

"I know." She dipped her head. "At the beginning, I believed you."

"The Wraith were all over the city." Ford was rubbing a hand absently across his chest. "We were outnumbered."

"Aiden." Teyla spoke softly, her eyes on his hand. He dropped his arm, flushing self-consciously.

"I…"

"There were no Wraith." Her words were confident, but her voice betrayed her doubt.

"I thought…" The lieutenant broke off, a shudder running through him. "We were outnumbered," he finished, simply.

Sheppard looked away, guessing at what haunted the younger man but refusing to force him into reliving it. There would be time for that later, in the eventual debriefing and mission reports.

McKay still sat on the floor, seemingly lost in a world of his own. He flinched when Sheppard approached, his shoulders stiffening, his head jerking upwards. "What?"

"You okay?"

"Yes." He pulled himself to his feet, refusing the offer of help, his movements uncoordinated, his eyes refusing to meet the gaze of anyone else. "I'm getting out of here."

"Best idea you've ever had," Sheppard joked, weakly. The scientist huffed, crossing the room to the door panel. Its metal cover still lay on the floor from where McKay had dropped it, after being knocked out from the gas of the game.

After several seconds of fiddling the door slid open. There was a long period of uncomfortable silence, none of the four seeming able to look at each other, or the open doorway.

Sheppard grabbed his pack by one handle and stepped forward. "Come on," he said, decisively, stepping through the door. "Before Weir sends a search party."

Ford followed him, close on his heels, Teyla keeping up a second later. Sheppard blinked in the bright lights of the outpost corridor, unable to shake the feeling that his current surroundings were less real than the nightmare they had just lived through.

The journey back to the 'gate was quick and silent. McKay had the scanner out and was studying its screen with unwarranted attention. If he was thinking about the untapped technology potentially hidden behind the corridors, he made no mention of it.

Ford was still rubbing his chest. Every few seconds he would catch himself at it, his fingers curling into a fist and his arms forced down to his sides, but it would only take a moment before his body would betray him and resume the assault on his uniform.

Teyla had her weapons out, holding a stick in each hand. She held them still, save for her thumbs, which stroked the wood rhythmically. She walked with her weight on the balls of her feet, holding her body in a state of tension that looked almost painfully uncomfortable.

Sheppard watched them closely, devouring their presence. Mere minutes ago he had been convinced of their deaths, as well as of his own, and no matter how many times he repeated to himself that they had finally left the game, he was still a long way from believing it. It felt strange to feel his uniform, dry against his skin, to step forward with his left foot and not feel pain down his side from a wound that had never existed. There were images and sounds he could not shake; Carson's scream as a Wraith took his life, Elizabeth's eyes as he shot her.

He was ready to grieve for them.

The room containing the Stargate was unimpressive, its ceiling low, the walls an uninteresting cream. There were footprints in the dust from his team's entrance, and a long black swipe across the computer console, where McKay had first illuminated the small room.

Sheppard headed for the DHD, built into a waist high block of marble in front of the 'gate. Reaching for his GDO, he paused, aware that his team weren't following.

McKay had stumbled through the entrance last and had stopped on the other side of the doorway, his hands wrapped tightly around the straps of his pack. Sheppard frowned at him, tension prompting a wave of irritability.

"McKay. Whatever twisted technology the Ancients used to create this damn thing, it isn't worth it. And I know…"

"That's not it," the scientist interrupted. He lifted his head and met Sheppard's gaze for the first time since waking. His eyes were a strange, washed out color, and rimmed with red. "The stasis chambers."

"We escaped the game," Teyla said, quietly, looking back at the two men. "The Ancients have not."

"We can't leave them in there," Ford said, impulsively. "It wouldn't be right, sir."

Sheppard hesitated, reluctant to spend anymore time in the outpost, every part of him wanting to through the 'gate and not look back. But the memory of what they had just escaped was too fresh. His ears still rang from the sounds of gunfire, his chest still felt tight from the imagined flooding of water.

He turned to McKay, the decision weighing heavily on his shoulders. "What do we need to do?"

The scientist thinned his lips and nodded, stiffly. "The south of the complex holds the main power core. It's already weak, it won't take much to shut it down entirely."

"And the chambers?"

"Without power the life support…" McKay hesitated. "They'll be out of the game," he finished, simply.

Sheppard flinched, grasping the scientist's unspoken words. "Alright."

"It won't take long." The Canadian moved towards the console, his fingers running across its surface. A holographic display of the outpost appeared above it, flickering slightly. The center continued to pulse weakly with a warm white glow, but the outer edges were dark, the eastern section shrouded entirely in black.

"What's the danger to us?" he asked, suddenly, thinking of the planet outside.

"Negligible." McKay had his head bowed, studying readings coming from the computer below his hands. "Even without the air purifiers it would take days before we'd start to suffocate." He paused, a worried frown creasing his forehead. "Unless I'm wrong and the system's back-up…"

"McKay," Sheppard growled. "We're leaving here in the next couple of minutes. No danger of suffocating."

"Right, right."

"And the 'gate?"

"There will be enough residual energy in its buffers for it to dial out," the physicist paused, "at least a couple of times."

"What can we do?" Teyla asked, softly.

Rodney lifted his head, the frown still present. "On your right there should be a display showing the current output and input. I need you to tell me when it spikes. Major, it's the large, triangular button on the left."

"Got it," he replied, moving to Teyla's side and touching the requested button. A screen lit up beneath his fingers, small and rectangular, with a line of blue crossing the black.

Teyla studied it for a moment. "The current appears to be stable."

"Not for long." McKay gestured at the space beneath the console with one hand, without lifting his eyes from the display. "Lieutenant, I need to get to the crystals to sever the connection between the ZPM and the emergency subroutines. The system is designed to stop anything like this happening, so I have to make sure it doesn't restart the power supply after I've shut it down."

Ford nodded, dropping to his knees beside the scientist and attacking the side of the console. In a matter of seconds he had prised a panel from its side and was placing it carefully on the floor. Stood over him, McKay looked down from the computer display and clicked impatiently at the Lieutenant, gesturing the younger man to move.

"You're welcome," Ford muttered, shifting aside.

McKay ignored him, his hands delving deep into the chamber of crystals. "What's the current doing?"

Teyla was watching the display carefully and answered without looking up. "There is no change."

"Good, good." There was a small clink as the scientist dropped a pink crystal to the floor. It was cracked and dull. With a satisfied sigh, McKay dusted down his knees and stood up, looking over the computer.

Sheppard watched him, aware of the scientist hesitating, his hands stilling. "McKay?"

"Sorry." The physicist licked his lips nervously. "Ah, just… need a moment."

"I could take over," he offered, watching an expression of doubt play across his friend's face. "If you…"

"Don't be ridiculous," McKay replied, tersely. "I couldn't teach you what to do." He took a deep breath and resumed typing at the console. "It's too complicated."

Ford was watching him, looking determined, some of the color having returned to his skin. "I couldn't stay in there," he said, quietly. "That woman in the chamber…"

Sheppard rubbed his neck gingerly, the area feeling sore and tender to the touch. He suddenly had an intense flash back to his attacker, the strength it must have taken for her to punch through the ceiling of her coffin, the look in her eyes after Ford had killed her…

"I know," McKay said, softly. Then he ducked his head, burying his attention in the computer. "I'm rerouting the power from the outer sections back into the core. It'll overload the system and fry the ZPM." He paused, his expression one of deep concentration. "Tell me when it spikes, Teyla."

She nodded, watching the current, Sheppard over her shoulder. The blue line, which had been relatively stable up until then, suddenly started to pulse, peaking in short waves, growing in intensity. After several seconds, the blue suddenly peaked, a sharp triangle against the black. "Now," Teyla reported, her voice level.

McKay said nothing, but his hands moved in a blur across the computer. Sheppard watched him, suddenly aware of an increase in the background noise, the mechanical hum of the outpost growing in volume. Suddenly the chamber of crystals beneath McKay exploded in a shower of sparks, prompting the scientist to leap back a foot with a startled yelp. Simultaneously the display Teyla was watching winked out of existence, the control panel darkening lifelessly.

"McKay?" Sheppard demanded, taking a step towards him.

The scientist finished patting down a few, smoldering patches on his uniform and dove back to the control panel. "I'm alright," he reported, concentrating on the display. "Wasn't quite expecting that but then given how long the system…"

The lights went out, startling McKay into silence. Above him the holographic image of the outpost flickered and changed. The western and northern quarters of the t-section, previously outlined in a warm green, suddenly pulsed with a dangerous red.

"Is that it?" Sheppard asked, watching the display closely.

"Yes." McKay had stepped away from the console and was watching the hologram, his expression unreadable.

As the four watched, the red color on the outlying sections of the outpost started to fade, as did the previous green. Slowly, the white web of power current spreading out from the central core started to creep back, leaving the outer quarters dark and lifeless.

Sheppard imagined, for a moment, he could hear the scream of the Ancient who had attacked him.

"Power is off to the chambers," McKay reported. His voice was quiet, and flat. "Life support has failed."

There was silence in the room. Ford had removed his cap and was passing it between his hands, his head bowed. Teyla was once again whispering under her breath, her eyes suspiciously bright. McKay's expression was one of stone.

All Sheppard felt was incredibly tired, down to his bones.

He was the first to move, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Let's go home."


	23. Mourning After

Chapter Twenty Three - Mourning After

Their homecoming was the talk of Atlantis.

Sheppard had stepped through the wormhole last, arriving on the other side to blink in wonder at the city around him. The whole, undamaged city, and the faces looking nervously at the returning team. His three team mates stood beside him, in equal states of shock, their silence prompting a waiting Beckett to rush over, medical team in tow.

The Scot had been slightly bemused to suddenly find himself on the receiving end of an enthusiastic hug, Ford almost crushing the older man before pulling away.

"Son, what on earth…"

"It's great to see you," Aiden said, an enormous grin plastered across his face.

"Really," McKay said, fervently, prompting a startled eyebrow raise from the physician.

"It's, ah, nice to see you to." He glanced behind him towards Weir, who was coming down the steps, a ruffled looking Zelenka in tow. "Are you all…"

"Uninjured," Teyla replied. She was looking around the 'gate room with an expression of wonderment, and a good level of uncertainty.

Sheppard shared her feelings, fighting his instinct, the voice at the back of his mind warning him, don't get attached, don't get involved. It's not real.

Then suddenly Elizabeth was standing in front of him, a concerned frown on her face. "Major?" She touched his arm gently and he jerked back as though he'd been stung.

"Sorry." He drew a hand across his face. "It's been a long day."

To his left, McKay had approached Zelenka and, awkwardly, had grabbed the surprised Czech and pulled him into a powerful handshake, pumping the poor man's arm until Radek turned a strange shade of pink. It was only when Rodney realized he was being watched that he broke off, with a spluttered cough, turning away from the shell-shocked Zelenka to study his boots.

Sheppard was aware of Elizabeth watching all of this, her concern warring with confusion. Finally she turned back to him, her eyes wide.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is going to make for a very long debriefing?"

* * *

By silent, mutual agreement, the team had kept many of the details sketchy, and Elizabeth wisely hadn't pressed the issue. Even so, the blanks Sheppard had of his teammates' experiences were now filled with a myriad of hideous images he was struggling to forget.

It was hard enough knowing that the personal demons brought up by the game had been shared and experienced by others. Reliving the intimacy made all four uncomfortable, and McKay was the first to bolt from the room, Ford and Teyla soon after. That had been eight hours ago and Sheppard hadn't seen them since.

He'd spent the first hour in the training room, pummeling a foam torso until his clothes were soaked with sweat and every muscle ached. It had done nothing to erase the images from his mind and as he walked back to his room, Sheppard was haunted by the faces of men and women he had seen killed. Real or not, he still felt burdened by guilt over their deaths.

The shower was hot, the water pounding into his shoulders and back. Sheppard stretched out, his hands placed against the wall, his head bowed, standing there until his fingers wrinkled and steam had fogged every surface.

Then he'd dried off, rubbing his hair roughly with a towel before crashing onto his bed and staring at Johnny Cash until the walls started to close in on him.

The car crash. Ford's face in the place of Eric's. In the hospital, refusing to relive his mother's death. In the desert, Ford and Teyla under enemy fire, McKay shot down into the dust. The Wraith in Atlantis.

He kept expecting to hear alarms, to hear a repeat of Elizabeth's voice calling out warnings across the city. To hear the rumble of Atlantis falling under the strike of darts, of the rattle of machine guns, of screams. He closed his eyes and smelt blood and smoke. Then opened them and stare back at the impassive face of Johnny, and up at the ceiling, his body refusing to sleep, to rest. He was terrified of what he might wake up to, if he slept.

Images swam around his head. Carson trapped in the infirmary, a Wraith's hand on his chest. Ford and Teyla fighting to protect the evacuees, and falling - although they hadn't given the details, and he hadn't asked. McKay, sounding desperate and scared and determined, alone in the city after Adams and O'Brien had died. Elizabeth crumpling to the floor, white hair and papery skin and eyes that stared at him and through him and…

Sheppard threw his pillow at the wall and pushed himself onto his feet roughly, buttoning his shirt before fleeing his room in frustration.

He was heading back to the training room, despite his body's protests, when a growl from his stomach changed his mind. It was late, some time in the early hours of the following morning, when the only ones still awake were those on guard over the Stargate. The mess hall would be empty - he could grab a snack, a sandwich, some of that non-specified poultry meat Stackhouse's team had traded for.

There was a light on.

He paused at the doorway before entering. McKay, Teyla and Ford sat around a table in the far corner of the room, and looked up when he entered. McKay had a plate piled high with what looked like left over casserole, and was poking at it with a fork. Both Teyla and Ford had settled for soup, a thick, spicy Athosian specialty. Sheppard could smell it from several meters away, prompting another protesting grumble from his stomach.

"Major." Teyla looked relieved to see him, as much as Sheppard felt on seeing her. "Were you looking for us?"

"No," he said, then reconsidered the question, and decided he probably was, after all. "Maybe," he conceded, then nodded at the bowls. "Smells good."

"The doc' finished off the stew," Ford offered, "but there's some more soup in a pot round the back. It's probably still warm."

Sheppard nodded, moving down the central aisle towards the serving area. He found the pot easily and filled a bowl, helping himself to a wedge of bread sat on a shelf above. Bringing the meal around to the table, he sat down beside Teyla and grabbed the spoon McKay offered to him.

"So," he said, pausing before starting to eat, "I guess I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep."

There was a short pause as the three looked away from each other.

"Not really," Aiden admitted, reluctantly.

"I tried meditating," Teyla confessed, "but I could not concentrate." She hesitated. "I still find myself doubting this reality."

"I was working," McKay said, sounding slightly peeved, "but Radek told me that I was unnerving him, and ordered me not to come back until I stopped being nice to him." He sniffed. "Ordered me!"

"I don't believe it," Sheppard said, dryly.

The scientist glared at him. "For the record, I wasn't being nice."

"Didn't think you could be," Ford said, grinning.

McKay huffed, forking a large lump of meat and devouring it whilst shooting a dark look at Aiden.

"There's always Heightmeyer," Sheppard ventured, gauging the reactions of his team carefully. Kate's name had been raised by Weir, and had garnered little response at the debriefing.

"I would prefer to deal with this without her help," Teyla admitted.

"Yeah." Aiden stirred his soup uneasily. "Talking about it to someone who wasn't there - I think it might make it more real, not less."

"What happened in there wasn't easy," he pressed, cautiously.

McKay lifted his head and met his gaze, shrewdly. "So are _you_ going to pay her a visit?"

He winced.

Teyla had finished her soup and now laced her fingers around the outside of the bowl. "What we experienced…" she paused. "Waking from the game, believing we had returned to Atlantis, only for the game to begin again…" She petered out into silence.

"I don't regret what we did."

Sheppard glanced at Ford, raising an eyebrow.

The lieutenant shrugged. "The Ancients. I keep thinking about what it must have been like - all those years, going through all that, and never escaping it."

"She was insane," Teyla said, quietly.

There was a long pause. No one needed to ask of whom she was speaking.

"There were times it seemed like a good option," McKay mumbled, beneath his breath.

Teyla glanced at the scientist concernedly, then looked away.

They hadn't told Weir of the Ancients. McKay had breezed over the unstable nature of the power core, said that their intrusion into the game had led to a failure in the life support systems. She hadn't questioned them, but Sheppard suspected she knew. Elizabeth seemed to display a sixth sense when it came to her leading team, and the way she had so easily accepted McKay's decision to lock the outpost address from the 'gate network spoke volumes.

It was after that, that she had suggested Heightmeyer.

"If the Wraith attack Atlantis…" Ford paused.

"It will be different," Teyla told him, matter-of-factly.

"As if there wasn't enough to worry about," McKay muttered, "we have to experience the thing just so a damn computer can get its kicks."

"And the rest," Aiden said, softly.

Sheppard had a flash of hospital green and the smell of disinfectant. Nurse's heels clacking on tiles and murmured, empty condolences…

A sharp rap on his soup bowl interrupted his thoughts and drew him back into his surroundings abruptly. McKay withdrew his spoon.

"If you don't eat that soon it's going to go cold."

Sheppard hesitated before answering, taking a moment to recognize his friend's efforts. "Who are you," he challenged, "my mother?"

"Hardly," McKay sniffed. "I just don't like seeing good food go to waste."

Ford gave the scientist a skeptical look. "You can't still be hungry, doc?"

"Well there's no food allowed in the labs, and who knows how long I went without eating on the outpost."

"Six hours," Teyla told him. "As I believe you know."

Sheppard grinned, and was surprised to find it felt genuine. He drove his spoon into the soup, marking his territory and pulling it away from McKay's reach. "Get your own," he told him.

McKay scowled, and continued eating his own meal.

Silence lingered, threatening to turn uncomfortable. Sheppard stared at his soup, rolling a piece of bread between his fingers.

"It'll get easier," he said, impulsively.

Nobody answered him, until Teyla finally looked up from her meal and spoke.

"I believe it already has."

She smiled at him, and he returned it warmly.

"It's just weird," Aiden admitted, awkwardly. "Feels like we were in there for forever. I guess, we just have to get used to being back."

"And forget whatever we saw," McKay muttered.

Sheppard looked at him, frowning. "Deal with it," he corrected.

The scientist looked at him doubtfully, and shrugged. "Whatever."

"Since Weir's given us a couple of days off," he said, casually, "I was thinking we could take a jumper to the mainland, maybe check out that beach grove Stackhouse discovered on the last run."

Ford grinned. "Sounds good, sir."

"Teyla?"

She inclined her head slightly. "I would enjoy spending more time away from Atlantis."

McKay already had his mouth open to protest. "Major, the amount of work I have…"

"McKay," he drawled, carefully, "I think it might be an idea us to get away from the city."

The scientist seemed to struggle for several seconds, but eventually seemed to understand, nodding slowly. "Alright," he agreed. "Since Radek's banned me from my own lab. But I'll need to get some sunscreen. I burn easily."

"Rodney…"

"And I'm not swimming. Salt water makes my skin all dry and flaky - I have problems with eczema and Carson just won't…"

"On second thoughts," Sheppard interrupted, "maybe you should stay behind."

McKay folded his arms across his chest crossly. "You invited me."

"Glad we're agreed."

Rodney pulled a face, and sat back, indulging in a wide yawn. "I think I could sleep for a week."

"After eating all that I'm not surprised." He felt his own mouth constrict impulsively and he covered his mouth with his hand.

Teyla eyed him critically. "Perhaps we should all get some rest."

Sheppard shrugged, shifting a little deeper into his seat and loosening his shoulders. He watched his team, shrouded by the dim lights of the commissary, and felt himself relax in a way that, an hour ago, he hadn't thought possible. The city hummed happily around him, a whisper at the back of his mind he found soothing, a constant reminder of this reality.

Opposite him, McKay shoveled another forkful of casserole into his mouth, whilst reaching for his glass with his free hand. Ford pulled a face at the scientist's eating habits and pushed his own bowl away in a deliberate demonstration of disgust - which was purposefully ignored by McKay. Teyla raised her eyebrows and gave both of them a look which spoke clearly, _children_.

Sheppard grinned, and reached for the bread. He was tired, he was hungry, and he was surrounded by his team. Tomorrow there would be sun, and sand, and the possibility of surfing. It wasn't much, but at that moment it seemed like everything.

Anything else, like he'd told McKay, he was dealing with. And it was already easier.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, so I stole the chapter title from_ Brimstone._ But look! It's finished! And at times it was like pulling teeth... sigh I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to everybody who has reviewed, apologies if I haven't thanked you in person - you're all fantastic and I really appreciate the comments! Now, what shall I do to fill the time until The Hive?_


End file.
